


Heart of Fools

by Claudia_flies



Category: Captain America (Movies), The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alpha!Steve, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Alternate Universe - Dystopia-ish, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angst, Blood and Violence, Dubious Consent, Explicit Sexual Content, Happy Ending, Hurt/Comfort, Knotting, M/M, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Medical Trauma, Mpreg, Omega!Bucky, Past Torture, Pining while fucking, Sex Work, restricted reproductive choices
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-15
Updated: 2017-05-01
Packaged: 2018-09-17 17:51:04
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 15
Words: 55,824
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9335858
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Claudia_flies/pseuds/Claudia_flies
Summary: Bucky spots the leaflet under some old magazines as he eats. It’s crumpled and worn. He’s looked at it several times in the past seven months since he found it in the Omega center. It has pictures of smiling couples holding hands, sitting on picnic blankets under willow trees. They’re outlined by slogans like “Serve Your Country” and “Your Contribution is Needed”.





	1. the proud in spirit

**Author's Note:**

> I’m finally back in the ABO trashcan.
> 
> Title from Ecclesiastes 7:4 _The heart of the wise is in the house of mourning; but the heart of fools is in the house of mirth._
> 
> Thank you to the lovely [Zilia](http://archiveofourown.org/users/zilia) for beta as always.

 

The fridge is empty when Bucky opens it in the morning. It’s not really a surprise. It was empty last night too, but it’s a habit, opening the door and looking at the bare shelves. Kind of stupid of him really, hoping that something might have appeared overnight. These silly little things that he does.

He still has a few cans of beans left, so he pops one of them into the electric can opener. It’s the one luxury item that he owns. Watching as it whirrs, pops the tin open. He heats up the beans on the electric hob and eats them from the pan. There is no point in wasting water in washing up a bowl.

The heating has been turned off for months now and Bucky’s gotten used to it. He’s trying to save as much water as he can, stave off that being turned off too. It’s harder to try and ask after jobs if he hasn’t showered in a while. People looking at him with upturned noses and only a barely veiled disgust. He should be used to it now, really, after all this time, but it still stings somehow.

He spots the leaflet under some old magazines as he eats. It’s crumpled and worn. He’s looked at it several times in the past seven months since he found it in the Omega center.

It has pictures of smiling couples holding hands, sitting on picnic blankets under willow trees. They’re outlined by slogans like “ **Serve Your Country** ” and “ **Your Contribution is Needed** ”.

Bucky has no illusions about serving his country. He’d tried that and got burned. Burned and maimed and spat out the other end with nothing to show for his efforts. Nothing but nightmares and a freaky metal contraption for an arm. Neither does he think that the Omega Registry has anything to do with nice picnics in the park or walking hand in hand through a small town fair like some kind of a 1950s date.

It’s about fucking. It’s about providing Alphas doing covert ops and military service with a willing maid and a hole to fuck on leave. You don’t come out of something like that smelling of roses. It pretty much ruins an Omega’s chance of finding a mate for life. That’s why the benefits are so good. It’s not that Bucky thinks that anyone would ever even pick him, but what he is looking at is the $500 reward for going through the interview process and entering his details in the Registry’s database. For signing their contracts.

He dials the 800 number on the back of the leaflet one-handed on his shitty cell phone. The fingers on his left arm barely work anymore. He gives his details to the man in the call center when they finally pick up after keeping Bucky on hold for over 10 minutes. He gets given a date to come for a session. Luckily it’s only a two-day wait.

 

 

The Omega Registry’s recruitment center is a squat, gray building in Jersey and Bucky curses the whole organization again for making him drive that far. Curses the waste of petrol. His car is shitty but it still runs, and if the worst should happen to his apartment then at least he will still have somewhere to sleep.

He parks not too far from the doors and is given a registration pack and a number, 107, and told to enjoy the complimentary breakfast in the canteen by the bored-looking receptionist. He should go to the indicated interview room when his number is called.

The breakfast buffet is amazing. Eggs, bacon, homefries, pancakes. Several different types of syrups. Cereals, fruits, yogurts. Bucky piles his plate as high as he can and stuffs himself until he can barely move, going back for second and third helpings.

The friendly Beta running the kitchen stops by his table to ask how the food is and all Bucky can do is smile with his mouth full.

He’s sure that the servers are observing him and judging what an animal he is. Probably reporting everything to the interview staff. Bucky doesn’t care. He hasn’t seen this much food in months and is determined to make the most of it, stuffing a few yogurt cups into his bag.

He gets a few minutes to digest before his number is finally called. The big screen indicates that he needs to go to interview room 28. The interviewer waiting for him there is a non-descript Beta.

“Please take a seat, Mr. Barnes.”

Medium height, medium build, small wire-rimmed glasses. He reads out the questions from the screen and types Bucky’s responses, barely looking at him as he does.

“Have you ever been mated?”

“What is your sexual history? How many partners have you had?”

“What are your cooking skills like?”

Bucky sits through it, giving the minimum amount of answers that won’t get him thrown out. Lies for the others. Then the questions get weird.

“What is your ideal mate?”

“What do you find attractive in a mate?”

“How would you like to be wooed?”

“What are your sexual preferences? What arouses you?”

Again he gives mostly single word answers, which the man seem very unsatisfied by. Clicking his tongue as he types, thin eyebrows scrunching together unhappily. Bucky ignores him in favor of staring into the black lens of the camera the whole interview. It’s like a dark all-seeing eye, looking at him. Judging him.

Bucky isn’t really that hungry when the interview ends, but he makes the most of the lunch buffet, managing to sneak several bread rolls and small packs of butter into his bag to join the yogurt already there.

The friendly Beta just smiles and winks at him when she catches him in the act. Bucky feels his face flame, shame burning in his gut, but not enough for him to stop. He’s had to swallow his pride many a times before. It’s not like it matters if they think he’s a thief. He’s here, they still have to pay him.

After lunch is the medical.

He gets through it. It’s not pleasant, but Bucky’s used to his body to be poked and prodded enough during his time in the Program. He can switch off the noise in his head easily enough. Stay still like he’s not even there. Not caring when they move his legs open to examine him. Lies there, looking at the bright fluorescent lights above him until his eyes water.

He does flinch when they touch the scarring where the arm attaches, heavy and useless as it is now, recoiling and stumbling off the examination table. The small Omega nurse gets him to calm down enough to get back on the table after a few minutes. Or he thinks it’s minutes, maybe he’s lost time again. The Doctor doesn’t touch the arm after that. Doesn’t ask about it either, which Bucky is grateful for. He isn’t sure what he could say, really.

Bucky doesn’t remember getting dressed or how he ended up back in the atrium with an envelope with $500 inside. He stands there for a moment, just looking around, until he feels a soft hand at his elbow.

It’s the Beta lady from the buffet. She’s holding a big grocery bag, seemingly filled with boxes and crinkled paper bags. Holding it out to him.

“It’s all gonna go to waste if no one takes it.”

Bucky throws his satchel over his shoulder and takes the offered grocery bag. Tries to smile back at her, at the kindness she’s doing to him. She doesn’t touch him, just smiles, sad and resigned when she walks away from him.

The contents of the bag feed him for over a week. He stretches the food out with beans and canned tomatoes and other pulses he finds in the discount bin of the supermarket.

$500 really doesn’t go a long way but it allows him to pay his rent and stave off eviction for another month. He still doesn’t turn on the heating. Bucky isn’t stupid, or wasteful. He tries for a few more jobs, at a coffee shop and the all-night bodega, but nothing comes of them. He’s an Omega with a one working arm, a horrific metal prosthetic which barely works anymore and no references. He wouldn’t hire himself either if it came to that.

Bucky swallows his pride after the food is gone and goes to the Omega center for the day to get the free meal they cook. At least that’s something.

 

 

It really was a nice reprieve, those last few months. The $500 and the food, but it’s over now.

He’s packed everything he owns, which isn’t much, into his car. Blankets and a lumpy pillow in the back seat. Water canister and his electric can opener in the back. He’s going to try and find an electric converter for it so he can use it from the cigarette port in the front.

He leans against the side of the car, breathing through the ache in his left shoulder. Trying to work up the energy to go back and close up the flat one final time. The arm has bothered him a lot more in the recent weeks, now barely moving, and the metal pulling on his shoulder and back. With a sigh, Bucky braces the arm against his ribs and goes back inside the building. He’s not going to miss the damp and the smell of cat piss in the hallways.

The call comes when he’s leaving his keys on the kitchen counter. The woman’s voice is brisk and businesslike.

“Is this James Barnes?”

Bucky looks at the phone for a bit, wondering if they have the right James Barnes before answering.

“Yes.”

“I’m calling from the Omega Registry. You have been matched with one of our operatives. As per your contract, you are required to come in to complete your assignment details immediately.”

She lists an address just off Times Square in Manhattan and Bucky tries to work out the drive and the location in his head while she waits impatiently on the line.

“Uh, I’m not really sure I can.”

Her voice becomes hard then.

“Mr. Barnes, I must remind you that you signed a legally binding agreement with the Registry.”

“No, no I’ll come, just I don’t have any money. I can’t park anywhere there for free and I don’t have any money for the train.”

There is a silence on the line for a moment and Bucky feels the familiar shame burning in his gut again until she finally answers. Surprisingly, her voice is softer now.

“Alright.”

She lists another address not far away from the first; it’s a side street, Bucky thinks.

“There is a parking garage there, drive in and say that you are there to meet with Mr. Coulson for the Omega Registry. They will know to direct you to the correct parking space.”

On the drive over, Bucky wonders about the Alpha who would have picked him from the Registry’s database. Why would someone be interested in someone like Bucky? He hopes it’s not an amputee fetishist, because that’s not going to end up well for either one of them. Something in the arm clicks and grins at the thought, the gears trying to calibrate and something sparking off deep in his shoulder that makes Bucky grimace, barely keeping the car in lane.

When he finally makes his way to Manhattan and to the side street off Times Square, pulling into the fancy-looking garage, the parking attendant looks ready to shoo him off until he mentions Mr. Coulson and the Registry. Then she directs him to the second basement floor and to a parking spot B2-34.

Mr. Coulson, who meets him near the parking space, is a mild-mannered Beta with an ill-fitting suit and an unnervingly bland face. He shakes Bucky’s hand, that bland smile never leaving his face.

The contract, when Bucky finally gets it inside a bland, beige office, is long and complicated.

He has to sign seven different non-disclosure agreements and gagging orders. There is something in the language that makes Bucky think that this isn’t a regular Army officer or even a regular SHIELD operative who’s picked him. He still signs thinking it can’t be worse than what he’s already been through.

Then he finally gets his hands on the benefits package.

18 months of service will net him $30,000 and a full ride at a university of his choice from a list of SHIELD-approved institutions. One of them is MIT. There is also Columbia. NYU. Places Bucky has never even dreamed of going to. Getting a degree from one of these places would a mean a life and job, even for an Omega like him.

The only thing standing in his way is 18 months with an unknown SHIELD operative.

He can do this. He can be the perfect Omega for that time. 18 months isn’t that long, right? His body’s been used for killing, for medical experimentation, and he got nothing worthwhile to show for it. Just a fucked-up metal arm and extensive scarring and nerve damage. Nightmares. He still doesn’t think about the other side effects. The strange way his body sometimes feels.

He can cook and clean and spread his legs for an Alpha for 18 months. So he signs the final contract papers. It’s is a small price to pay for a lifetime of freedom.

“Welcome on board, Mr. Barnes.”

Coulson shakes his hand again, and smiles in that bland way of his that still creeps Bucky out, but he tries to not to show it on his face.

They leave his car in the parking garage after Bucky has taken his bag and the electric can opener out. The blacked-out SUV which is waiting for him has that same air of the military he got used to in the Program. It should unnerve him, but maybe he’s just too numb to it now. They drive out of the city and into the countryside, one and a half hours out of Manhattan. The scenery passes by, becomes greener and more sparsely populated. It’s nice, even pretty.

Finally, after what feels like an age on small country roads the car pulls into a private road and into a large, flashy looking compound.

He’s barely out of the car when he’s greeted with a loud and bright shout of “Well, hello there!”

The dark-haired Omega standing by the curb has a wide smile and an ample chest. She’s dressed in jeans and a garishly colored sweater.

“Welcome to the Avengers compound!”

Bucky can’t help but stare at her for a while until his brain kicks into gear and registers what she’s said.

“Avengers?”

“It’s a sort of a nickname for the team. You know, saving the world and all.”

She smiles again and elbows him into the side like they are in on a joke together. Bucky has no idea what she is talking about, so decides to just smile at her, which seems to be the right decision as she launches instantly into the silence, leading him off the curb and through the shiny double doors.

“We’ve all been in a tizzy over you for days now! Rogers finally picking a companion. You know. He’s been holding out for, like, years! I mean, Nat even called from Vilnius to get the goss and she was total black out, you know, so this is like a huge, fucking, deal.”

“Uh...”

“The name’s Darcy, by the way.”

She shakes his hand with a brisk, friendly motion.

“Let me know if you need anything and I’ll hook you up!”

They are standing by the dark wooden door. It’s in a bland corridor but looks like an entry to an expensive apartment. Darcy digs a set of keys from her jeans pocket and hands them to Bucky.

“So, this is you!”

Bucky unlocks the door and he’s happy to see that he only needs to turn the key. It’s not like one of those doors where you need to turn the key and the knob at the same time. Darcy beams at him and leaves him in the doorway with a wave and big smile and another over-exuberant “Welcome!”

Bucky makes his way in carefully. It’s a large, wide open space with a beautiful living and dining room which leads into a well-appointed kitchen. The windows are facing the woodland, creating a sense of seclusion.

Bucky makes his way to the kitchen and opens the fridge. He nearly weeps at the sight of all the food, his eyes trying to catalog the cornucopia in front of him.

After tearing himself away from the fridge, Bucky goes down the corridor that connects to the living room until he finds the small room tucked in the back of the apartment, which he assumes is the companion room. He would probably be expected to sleep with his Alpha, but the room is there if he is asked to give the Alpha space.

There is a small single bed, but it has nice linens and a thick, comfy-looking duvet and pillows. The bathroom is small, but it’s new and functional. Everything is warm and safe and for a brief moment Bucky lets himself breathe it in. He unpacks what few clothes he has into the closet and puts away his shoes.

He takes the can opener into the kitchen with him.

His Alpha should be home in a few hours, that’s what Darcy had said, and he needs to make a good impression. Needs for this Alpha to like him. The Alpha did pick him after seeing his interview and pictures and medical files so there should be no surprises there. The thought comforts Bucky as he starts to pull out ingredients.

There’s nothing like his ma’s lasagne to kick off a relationship, he decides, and gets to work.


	2. in his righteousness

 

Captain Steve Rogers stares into Fury’s passive face over the wide expanse of the conference table.

“No.”

Fury shrugs with such a practiced air of boredom it makes Steve want to punch him. Take out the other eye, maybe.

It’s an old argument between them, like a petty game of chess, and after the disaster that was Kazakhstan, Fury has him over a barrel.

“You know the rules, Captain Rogers. Even you are not above them. No combat missions until you pick an Omega companion. The council is not willing to take another risk.”

“My results speak for themselves, Director.”

Steve tries to defend himself, even when he knows that Fury has him cornered.

“Not anymore. That kind of loss of control, Rogers, is indicative of an overdue rut, and this is where the line is drawn. For anyone else, we would have enforced this months, if not years ago.”

Steve just stares at the director mulishly, not ready to admit defeat but having run out of arguments. Fury seems to sense victory and carries on, not even looking at him anymore.

“The contracts are for 18 months. We can review your service record after that time.”

Fury throws him the Kazakhstan briefing file across the table and Steve catches it from the air automatically.

“Just pick an Omega, Captain.”

Fury sounds almost bored, and Steve has to grit his teeth on the way out. His knuckles white where they grip the folder.

Back at his apartment, Steve opens the laptop and clicks into the Omega Registry web portal. Signs in with his SHIELD details and login credentials. Waits for the verification as the Registry logo swirls on the page.

If Fury wants him to find an Omega, he will fucking find one. He will find one so reprehensible and awful that even Fury won’t let them into the compound.

When the page finally loads, it’s offering him a tour and a direct link to a search that has matched him with his most compatible Omegas according to the Registry’s algorithms. Steve ignores it and instead clicks to the individual profile search. Filters them by the view count. Starts from the bottom.

After an hour of clicking profile after profile he hits, what he would like to call, the Jackpot.

James Barnes.

He was part of Alexander Pierce’s covert ops program to create Omega soldiers through behavior modification and intensive training. The set-up got disbanded when the Joint Chiefs got wind of the unlicensed medical experimentation Pierce had authorized. Everyone in the program got discharged, and their files sealed.

The Registry has whatever information was declassified for SHIELD employees, and Steve knows enough to read between the lines.

Barnes clearly has an attitude problem a mile wide if the interview tapes are to be believed. He only gives short or one-word answers to the questionnaire and the observers reported that he stole things from the canteen over both breakfast and lunch. The mulish stare Barnes has directed straight into the camera on the film and the short, flippant, almost defiant responses he gives when questioned give further evidence of his uncooperative nature.

James Barnes is just perfect.

Steve skips over most of the medical files on the profile.

Barnes isn’t unattractive per se, just big for an Omega and very scruffy, which Steve knows will piss Fury off to no end. The man has a thing for neat and tidy. Steve kind of likes the long hair and stubble. The cleft of his chin.

He lets Fury stew for a week before sending his choice off in the Registry’s systems. It doesn’t take long, maybe an hour or two, for him to be called into the Director’s office at the Triskelion. Steve can’t help the self-satisfied smile on his face in the lift as he makes his way to the top of the building.

As soon as he enters, Fury barks at him across the room, not even bothering to turn around from the screen he’s facing.

“Pick someone else.”

The anger and annoyance in his voice are indication enough of his state of mind. An indication that Steve has managed to ruffle Fury’s feathers to this degree, to get a crack in that facade. Calmly, Steve sits down, crossing his hands over his chest.

“No.”

“Rogers….”

There is a warning in Fury’s voice that Steve blithely ignores.

“No. You asked me to pick an Omega. I picked an Omega. If you object to him, then I’m not taking anyone. I picked, you rejected.”

Fury stares at him, head cocked to the side, considering. The look on his face makes Steve nervous suddenly.

“Fine.”

“Wait…what?”

For the first time, Steve is taken off guard. This really wasn’t the plan.

“You want Barnes. We’ll get you Barnes.”

“But…”

“You picked him, Captan. Unless you want to reconsider? Change to another Omega, someone more _suitable_ , perhaps?”

The silence hangs heavy between them, a battle of wills, and neither of them is willing to look away or concede to the other.

“No.”

“Alright then.”

When Steve doesn’t respond Fury continues.

“The Registry will arrange for Barnes to be taken to the compound and given a brief induction. You are expected to brief him on your personal requirements.”

Fury turns back to his screen, effectively ending the conversation.

“Dismissed, Captain.”

 

 

Steve’s in his car, driving down the winding roads to the compound. The scenery is beautiful, but sometimes, after a long day and even longer drive, Steve wishes that the base was near an interstate. He’d gotten the text from Darcy earlier in the day when he was in a meeting in the the Manhattan SHIELD offices.

**< He’s here! :) :) :) Seems nice!!  >**

Steve hasn’t texted back. Everyone thinks that Darcy is Thor’s companion, which neither of them seem to mind at all. Keeps everyone off his back and no one questions his frequent trips to London to see a particular Beta astrophysicist. Leaving Darcy to do as she pleases with the apparent protections of being a companion.

Steve thanks his lucky stars that Darcy is not at the reception desk when he gets in and he’s able to sneak to the residential wing without seeing anyone. When he opens the door the first thing Steve sees is the dining table set for a nice meal, and the smells of food and freshly baked bread wafting from the kitchen.

Barnes comes out of the kitchen. He’s wearing a threadbare pair of jeans and a henley with a hole in the elbow. The left sleeve is rolled down to a gloved hand that Barnes holds tightly to his side.

He’s smiling. Shyly. Holding out his right hand to Steve.

“Hi, I’m Bucky. I know that the file said James, but I go by Bucky.”

It makes Steve’s stomach clench because Barnes smells nice. Really nice. Like summer rainstorm nice. Like thunderstorms and starlit skies nice.

“I’m not hungry.”

“Oh.”

The shy smile disappears, and Steve wants to take it back, but he can’t. Instead, he heads to his office and reminds himself that Bucky is paid to be here. He’s paid to be in Steve’s apartment cooking and smelling nice.

When he comes out of the office an hour later the table has been cleared.

Barnes is in the kitchen, eating what looks like to be lasagne from a small plate. The counter is stacked with individual food containers. Steve assumes they contain whatever food Barnes has made.

He looks up as soon as he hears Steve enter the room, rising up from where he’s sitting.

“Uh, I can make you something else?”

“I’m going out.”

He doesn’t look back to see the panic on Bucky’s face, the way he steps to try and stop Steve from leaving. The way he lets his hand fall to his side, dejected.

Steve drives to the nearby town and eats alone in the diner. It used to be his favorite, but now for some reason, nothing tastes of anything. His brain just keeps bringing up the smell of the lasagna.

The food stand-off repeats daily until the weekend, when Steve wakes up to a full cooked breakfast. Bacon, English muffins, pancakes, little sausages and even a fruit plate.

Bucky is standing in the kitchen, placing a pancake gently on top of the pile in the middle of the table. He looks up, trying to smile, but Steve can now see the tension in his body, the way he tries to shield his left arm from Steve’s gaze. He’s dressed in that henley with the hole in the elbow again and a pair of run-down sweatpants.

Steve heads to the door, pulling on his sneakers.

“I’m going for a run.”

“Do you want...”

Steve closes the door before Bucky can finish the sentence, the words cut off by the click of the lock, leaving Steve alone in the silence of the hallway. He heads into the woods and the trails there. Running has always been good for clearing his head, allowing him space to think. Space away from Bucky and his nice smell and nice foods suddenly filling Steve’s kitchen and his orderly life.

On the second lap of the 10k woodland run, Steve makes the decision to ask Bucky to leave. He can break the contract within the first two weeks and Bucky can find another Alpha.

The kitchen and dining room are once again spotless when he returns, and Bucky is nowhere in sight. Steve is reluctant to go to the small back room he assumed Bucky is living in. It feels too much like an intrusion, a line he’s not willing to cross.

He really finds them by accident. He isn’t snooping, it’s his kitchen. A stack of University brochures on the far corner of the kitchen counter. MIT. Columbia. NYU. Small post-it-notes fixed on the program pages for engineering degrees. Bucky must have forgotten them there.

He knows that the deal is for the contract. A lump sum and a full ride. He’s just never really thought of what it would mean to someone, not really.

He thinks of Bucky’s hopeful, shy smile which is getting more and more strained every time Steve rejects the offered dinner or lunch, or the breakfast this morning. Steve knows he’s trying. It’s not his fault that Steve doesn’t want him here. That Steve only picked him to piss Fury off.

Suddenly he feels ashamed. Ashamed of everything he’s done, of how he chose Bucky, how he’s treated him in the days that he’s been in the apartment. Steve leaves the brochures where he found them and vows to make more effort. To be polite, to eat what Bucky makes.

He’s geared up to his decision when he finally gets back into the compound that evening from the Giants’ game that Tony had arranged him box seats for. Ready to sit down with Bucky for dinner and try to get to know him. But rather than the quiet apartment Steve was expecting, he’s greeted by Thor’s raucous laughter as soon as he walks in.

The table is set as always, but now it’s filled to the brim with all kinds of foods, and sitting around it are Thor, Natasha, Pepper and Wanda.

Perched on the edge of a chair squashed between Wanda and Thor is Bucky. He’s smiling, wide and happy, his eyes crinkled, radiating happiness. His shoulders touching both Wanda’s and Thor’s in turn as he moves. Everyone’s plate piled high with mixed foods. Steve spies lasagna and mashed potatoes and chicken cutlets; even the pancakes seem to be in the mix.

Before he even knows what’s happening Steve hears himself roar “What the hell is going on!?”

Bucky freezes and all his friends and co-workers turn to look at him standing gormlessly in the doorway. Thor rises up from his seat, his arms thrown wide and welcoming.

“Steven! My friend! Come! Bucky has been giving us all a feast! You have been hiding him and I can now see why!”

Thor’s smile is wide and happy and he pulls Bucky to his side in a way that makes Seve see red.

“What the fuck is going on? Why are you all here?! Did you invite them?!”

The final question is aimed straight at Bucky, who blanches at his words. He stutters to explain, but before he can say anything, Natasha is up from her seat and across the room in a flash, suddenly by Steve’s side. She drags him out of the apartment, down the hall and into a deserted conference room near the foyer. Shoving him against the conference table as soon as the door closes behind them.

“What the fuck is wrong with you, Rogers!?”

“What? Me?”

“Yes! You!”

Her finger pokes him in the chest, aggressive and confrontational. There is an edge of a growl in her voice that puts Steve on edge too.

“I came back from ass-end of the Balkans to find Darcy trying to help _your_ new Omega find places to donate food to. Food that he has been making for _you_!”

“I never asked him to make the food”

The words feel petulant and childish even to him as soon as they leave his mouth, and Natasha punches him in the arm. It hurts more than it probably should.

“That’s his job! He’s here for you, you imbecile! And he’s fucking dep’d to shit. Did you even read that fucking briefing on him?”

“Uh, not all of it….”

“He’s been trying to take care of you and you’ve been rejecting him at every turn, you complete asshole! Do you know what that can do to an Omega? Especially someone with his background?”

“What background?”

Natasha looks at him like he is a complete idiot. She’s very good at it.

“Did you read his medical file?”

“Uh, okay, that was the one I skipped.”

Natasha hits him again. Even harder this time.

“He’s got some pretty bad PTSD. Severe scarring on his chest and he’s really touch-averse. Not to mention the robot arm. Nearly took out one of the nurses when the Doctor at the center touched his prosthetic. Pretty much dissociated in the room during the exam.”

“Seemed fine with Thor touching him,” Steve mutters, but Natasha just ignores him like he hasn’t spoken.

“....and he’s suddenly been thrown into a traditional situation where all his instincts are geared towards taking care of you, submitting to you, and you keep rejecting him.”

Shit.

He knows how bad Deprivation Disorder can be for Omegas. It’s part of the reason the Registry was founded in the first place, to match those who were serving so that both Omegas and Alphas didn’t go into withdrawal during war times.

It’s not how the Registry works these days, it’s now more set up to look after the needs of Alpha operatives and soldiers in high-stress situations and make sure that their ruts are managed and cyclical. An Alpha who doesn’t rut can become aggressive and needlessly territorial.

Omegas, on the other hand, experience what is known as Deprivation Disorder or DD, where they can experience low mood and concentration problems, issues with their heat cycles and difficulty in bonding if the deprivation goes on for too long.

Both designations are driven by their instincts to a larger degree than Betas, and if Steve is completely honest with himself, he’s been pushing down those instincts to eat Bucky’s food, and to touch him and praise him, and press his nose to the side of Bucky’s neck and make sure he doesn’t smell of anyone else.

Well, shit.

“Shit.”

Natasha leans on the desk, her body slight next to his and the scent of her aggression slowly dissipating.

“Yeah, Rogers. Shit is right.”

“I gotta…I’m gonna talk to him.”

The decision is made and Steve feels better for it. More centered when he has a goal in mind. Natasha nudges him again, lips still pursed disapprovingly.

“Apologize. You are going to apologize, Steve.”

“Yeah. I am. I need to.”

He pushes off the table, mind made up. No one ever said that Steve Rogers walked away from a confrontation.

“And read his fucking file!” she shouts after him from the door.

Steve comes back to the apartment with his tail between his legs and an apology on his tongue, and nearly trips into a small bag by the door. Barely catching his weight on the wall.

The dining room is clean and empty. Steve has no idea how Bucky could have gotten everything cleared out so fast. Pepper and Wanda must have helped.

When he rounds on the kitchen he sees Bucky closing the last Tupperware box on the table. They are all labeled with colorful post-it-notes. Scrawled with names of Natasha, Thor, Wanda, and Pepper. For a brief, surreal moment, Steve wonders where he gets all the post-it-notes.

“Oh, sorry. I’m nearly done.”

Bucky’s face has gone tight and Steve can smell the sour unhappiness in the air. Steve clears his throat, his hand automatically going to rub the back of his neck.

“Look, Bucky....”

Bucky gets up from where he’s sitting, placing the pen and the post-it pad next to the containers.

“No, I totally understand.”

“You do?”

“Yes.”

He straightens his spine and looks straight at Steve. His eyes are hollow and blank, like he’s not really there anymore.

“I want to apologize for my behavior today. My only goal was to find somewhere to donate the food to as the freezer was getting full.”

He nods towards the double fridge and the huge freezer drawer that Steve isn’t sure if he’s ever even opened.

“When everyone showed up, I...”

Bucky shrugs helplessly, eyes flashing with something vulnerable, until it’s all swallowed up into blankness again.

“I understand that allowing other Alphas into your home was extremely disrespectful. I can only apologize for my behavior. I have already requested Darcy to order a taxi for me to take me back to New York.”

“What?”

“You are terminating the contract, yes?”

Suddenly Steve wants to roll back the whole exchange, wants to roll back the day.

“Wait, what?”

“You can end the contract within the first two weeks.”

“Okay, hold on. Please.”

Steve rubs his eyes, tired and suddenly very afraid of where the conversation is going.

“Can we just start over?”

“Sir?”

Bucky seems taken aback by that, looking at him cautiously.

“Can we, you know, start over?”

Steve holds out his hand, a mirror image of what Bucky had done on that very first day. Steve hopes that this time the outcome will be different. He tries to smile.

“Hi, I’m Steve Rogers, it’s nice to meet you.”

Slowly, Bucky takes his hand. His grip is firm, his fingers calloused.

“Bucky Barnes.”

“Nice to meet you, Bucky. Would you like me to show you around the apartment?”

“Uh... okay..”

There’s that shy smile again, and an edge of that scent again, and Steve feels like beaming for having been the cause for it. Spread his arms, pointing at the kitchen as a whole.

“Kitchen. Fridge is kept pretty stocked up, but you can let Darcy know if there’s anything you need or if something’s missing. She can also hook you up with any of the restaurants that have been cleared to deliver here.”

He leads Bucky to the living room, motions towards the giant TV that dominates the space.

“Dining room, living room, feel free to take advantage of Netflix. My card is set up in the iTunes account as well if you want to buy any movies or TV shows, go right ahead.”

Leads them to the hall from the living room, taps each door with his palm as they pass.

“The office. My room. The big bathroom.”

He leans on the final door and the end of the hall. He’s never really been inside it.

“Your room. If you need anything for the room you can again let Darcy know and she’ll order anything you want.”

Bucky fidgets with the hem of his shirt for a moment, his eyes bouncing across the walls, suddenly refusing to meet Steve’s eyes.

“Uh… Should I, you know, sleep here?”

Steve’s not really sure where else Bucky would sleep. He hopes that Bucky doesn’t think that he can’t have a room of his own. He wants Bucky to feel welcome, after everything he’s done.

“Yeah, it’s your room. I know it’s really small. I can ask the contractors to do an extension so that you can get a proper bed here and other furniture.”

Bucky shakes his head, seemingly horrified at the suggestion. Like he can’t imagine something like that being done for him.

“It’s okay, please don’t worry about it. The room is great, really!”

Steve places the call for the contractors that night. They can easily knock into the unit next door to get Bucky some space. Maybe redo the bathroom as well.

He feels better after the call. Having finally done something for Bucky.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for all the lovely comments on the first chapter! It’s such a huge motivator to write when you know that people are enjoying the story (^～^)


	3. gift destroyeth the heart

 

The weeks after they “start over” are strange. Steve is painfully polite and eats at home every evening and every lunch time he’s at the compound. He gives Bucky access to his calendar, so that he knows when Steve is not in for a meal and can plan accordingly. Steve makes an effort to compliment Bucky’s cooking and tries to help with the washing up, which Bucky always rejects: it’s his job after all.

The kitchen in itself is a marvel, with a food processor, a blender, one of those strange bullet things for smoothies and a kitchen aid with all sort of attachments including a pasta maker. A few days after the disastrous dinner party, a fancy-ass automatic can opener shows up on the kitchen counter.

Bucky still keeps his old one, just in case. Stores it in the back of his wardrobe. He relaxes a bit more after the two-week grace period for the contract passes and he knows he’s in for the long haul. Finally able to put all those recipes to use that he’d learned from his ma. Lasagna, of course, which he makes again for Steve after the previous one got mostly eaten by Thor. Meatballs, eggplant parmesan, and even risotto, although he has to ask Darcy to add the rice to the food order.

He tries making tacos and chilis and enchiladas, which turn out pretty good. He makes homemade guacamole in the strange bullet machine as well. Gets fresh, plump avocados delivered weekly.

Steve always clears his plate with a smile and often a request for seconds. _A smile like that can break hearts_ , or that’s what Bucky’s ma always used to say about Alphas like Steve. He is, after all, ridiculously good-looking. Blond hair and blue eyes and shoulders that go on for miles. Trim waist and powerful thighs. The kind of Alpha every Omega always dreams of. Bucky did too, back in the day before the world chewed him up and showed him his place.

Bucky does periodically wonder why Steve picked him from the Registry, but he’s too afraid to ask. He wonders because Steve doesn’t seem to want to touch him at all, doesn’t scent Bucky or mark him.

Maybe Steve picked him because he doesn’t want to touch an Omega, but for some reason has to have one.

Bucky should be relieved that sex isn’t required of him, but for some reason, he isn’t. It bothers him. Like an itch under his skin.

Because he wants to scent Steve, wants to mark him, press his face into the dip of his throat, nudge his head under the Alpha’s chin, submitting correctly. He doesn’t know why he wants these things when it’s so clear that Steve doesn’t.

On the Wednesday, it becomes clear that Steve wasn’t kidding about remodeling the room, as Bucky had hoped. There are five contractors at the apartment with Darcy and he’s asked to clear his room for a few weeks. Darcy shows him a guest quarters down the hall. They’re not too far; just a few seconds’ walk and he’s back at Steve’s door.

Darcy is giddy beside him. Bucky wonders if she has any other setting.

“Rogers is totally going all out for you. It’s a bit crazy, you know, remodeling an’ all.”

He feels like he needs to defend himself. Explain what happened.

“I didn’t ask for it.”

“Yeah, totally dude. I get that. He’s always a bit OTT, if you know what I mean. Goes all out. Like _really_ all out.”

When Bucky doesn’t answer, Darcy just smirks at him, but not in a mean way. Winks in that overly theatrical way like they’re in on the joke together, and it does make Bucky smile a little bit.

“He likes you…”

She stretches out the vowels in the ‘you’ in a way that makes Bucky blush, makes him stammer a bit.

“Uhh…”

“Oh my god! He totally does!”

She jumps into the air and whacks him on the arm like she can’t really contain herself, and then winces, sucking on her fingers that clanked against the metal plating of Bucky’s bicep. Not that he felt anything; the pressure sensors have been acting up for more than eight months now, and Bucky’s gotten used to not feeling anything.

Darcy shakes her sore hand in front of her like she’s trying to dry it, giving him the stink eye.

“Jeez, dude, what the hell is your arm made of?”

He doesn’t answer, just cradles the heavy prosthetic closer to his side. Darcy doesn’t ask again, but she does give him a considering look, eyes suddenly strangely soft.

She comes by to check on him more frequently after this, and Bucky doesn’t really know how he feels about that, but it’s nice to have some company outside of Steve. He hasn’t seen the other Alphas at all since that disastrous dinner several weeks ago.

He’s loading up the dishwasher one night after dinner when Steve is suddenly leaning over the breakfast counter. He’s looking at Bucky with his head cocked to the side, assessing.

“Why do you always wear the same thing?”

Bucky can feel his neck starting to redden. The familiar ache of shame in his belly.

He’d thought that he’d gotten pretty good with the laundry set-up. Washing and drying his clothing when Steve wasn’t around so that he could just hang around his in underwear and get everything washed in one go. Or you know, naked that one time that he really had to wash all of his underwear.

He stammers the words out. They are hard things to say, to admit to even now.

“Uh…I, I only have a few things.”

Steve looks at him, surprise clear on his face, and Bucky feels the words stuttering in his chest as he speaks.

“Does it…does it bother you?”

“No, no! I just…I don’t know why I asked that…”

Steve reaches to rub the back of his neck again, like he’s uncomfortable. Bucky doesn’t know how to make it better, so he just shrugs, not sure what to say, and goes back to filling the dishwasher.

When he looks up, Steve is gone.

But the day after, Steve is waiting for him in the morning, dressed and throwing a set of car keys in his hands.

“We’re going out.”

Meekly, Bucky follows like he’s supposed to. The garage is filled with cars, mostly blacked-out SUVs, but a few fancy-looking sports cars and several motorcycles. Steve take one of the SUVs and pulls them out of the compound and down the winding country roads.

“There’s a Macy’s in the next town over.”

Steve says it like Bucky should understand what he’s talking about, so he just responds with a neutral “okay.”

Steve looks back at him and then back to the road, and then back at Bucky as if expecting something more. When Bucky doesn’t answer, he continues, voice forcibly cheerful.

“You know, you need more clothes. Macy’s is good for that, right?”

Like Bucky should know. His current clothes came from Goodwill or the donation box at the Omega center. He’s not sure that he’s even been to Macy’s since he was a teenager.

When they get to the store, Steve grabs one of those giant mesh bags from somewhere. Leading them to the men’s floor of the store, his hand always hovering over Bucky’s lower back, but never touching.

He makes Bucky try things on, a lot of things. Shoving the four pairs of jeans which he seems to approve of into the mesh bag, followed by several sweaters in navys and greys. They’re all too nice and way above Bucky’s price range, but he doesn’t really know how to say that when Steve’s not even looking at the price tags. Then there’s the t-shirts and underwear and socks which Bucky doesn’t have to try on, thank god. Then Steve finds several henleys in different colors and into the bag they go. Then pajama pants. Sweatpants. A soft-looking sweatshirt.

Steve spends a stupid amount of time in the Under Armour section, picking out workout clothing. Bucky hopes that at least some of them will be for Steve, especially after he throws a few skin-tight t-shirts into the bag.

Then they move on to shoes. Bucky has to try on winter boots, sneakers, hiking boots, and brown dress shoes, and a pair of each is put into one of the mesh bags. They have now collected a herd of five mesh bags scattered around them. There are also several sales assistants hovering nearby.

Bucky tries to not tally the price tags in his head. He’d lost count after the first $600. He feels dizzy and a little bit sick to his stomach.

“Are they going to deduct this from the contract?”

“What? No! Of course not!”

Steve seems offended by the question, huffing a bit as he talks.

“The Registry should have made sure that you had everything. I’m considering making a formal complaint that they let you move in without adequate clothing.”

Then Steve takes him to outerwear. Looking at soft shell jackets for the fall and pulling one off the hanger and into the bag. Bucky assumed that he knows what size Bucky wears now.

He sees the blue pea coat by accident. It’s something that he would never even dream of owning; thick wool, beautifully cut and carefully tailored in a soft military style.

“What size, do you think?” Steve asks the sales manager whom they have now managed to attract, when he catches Bucky eyeing the coat. The man goes through the rack and picks up one of the blue coats and hands it to Bucky to try on.

It fits like a glove and the sales manager “oohs” and “aahs” at the appropriate time as Bucky turns in front of the mirror. It looks a bit silly with his worn, ill-fitting jeans, but Bucky can’t deny how much he likes it. How different he looks. Like looking at an alternative version of himself in some alternative timeline where his life didn’t go to shit.

Then Steve adds in a pair of lined leather gloves and a navy beanie. The shop assistant suggests an expensive-looking gray scarf, which Steve also adds to their pile. Bucky tries to sneak it away from the bag after catching a sight of the $70 price tag, but Steve catches him and shoos him away with a smile.

He also hustles Bucky away from the counter as the army of shop assistants rings up all of the purchases when they finally complete their tour around the men’s department.

On the way to the car and carrying all the bags, Steve puffs up his chest in that Alpha way that makes Bucky want to lean into him. He doesn’t, because this isn’t about that, no matter what his stupid hindbrain is saying. This isn’t Steve _providing_ for him. It’s just a practical consideration that was supposed to be done by the Registry. Steve will file a complaint because he was the one who had to do this with Bucky. So Bucky keeps his distance.

Two days later, a shiny new phone and a tablet computer show up at the apartment. They have little post-it-notes with Bucky’s name on them. Steve asks if he likes them and if they have been set up over dinner, and proceeds to give Bucky the codes to his Netflix account and setting up the app on the tablet.

Bucky hopes that the phone and tablet will be the end of it, but no. A few nights later Steve shows up for dinner with a little black box in his hands and that look on his face which Bucky has secretly started calling ‘gift face.’

“I walked past the shop today after the meeting and I thought you might like these.”

When Bucky doesn’t instantly take the offered box, Steve continues, looking strangely earnest.

“You mentioned about liking chocolate.”

He had. In passing, on liking the Swiss Miss hot chocolate he’d found in the cupboard. It’s really not the same as the box of clearly very expensive truffles Steve is offering.

He tries to open the box to give Steve some of the treats, but is rebuffed by “Oh, no, no, no. They’re for you. I want you to eat them,” and that wide smile again, and Steve’s hands pushing the box over to him across the counter.

He’d just nodded awkwardly, and taken them with him to his room down the hall.

He opens them now, pulls the ribbon off and lifts off the lid. It’s one of those kinds of boxes that doesn’t even provide a map that tells you what the chocolates are. They look hand-picked, nestled in their little hollows inside the box.

The first truffle melts on his tongue. It’s dark and bitter with a hint of something Bucky doesn’t recognize, can’t name. The second one is like caramel and salt, and it makes it all the more sweeter.

He leaves the rest for later, pressing the lid back into place. Hiding the box into his duffle bag that he still keeps by the bed. Just in case.

 

  

All in all, it takes two weeks and one day for the room renovations to be completed. Bucky thinks that that’s ridiculously fast to do an extension, but Darcy waves him off with a “Nah, they just knocked through to the empty unit next door. It’s all cool, my man.”

There’s been a change at the end of the corridor, in the positioning of Bucky’s door, but otherwise, everything still looks the same. That is only true until he opens the door.

The new room is big. Bigger than his apartment had been. From the door, Bucky stands facing a set of large picture windows looking out into the woodland, framed by heavy curtains. The room is already set up with a large, luxurious-looking bed with a mountain of pillows and a thick duvet. There’s a desk by the window and a comfortable-looking armchair in the corner. Bookcases built into the back wall.

There’s a door that Bucky suspects leads into a closet. Probably a walk-in closet.

Bucky considers turning off the lights and just hiding under the bedding until all of it goes away. Until he no longer lives here, in this strange place, but back in his shitty apartment, in a shitty part of Brooklyn, living his shitty little life.

But he can’t do that. He signed up for this. He should be grateful. That familiar sense of shame creeping over him again. _How dare he not be grateful_.

The bathroom is also new and shiny, with a separate soaking tub and a walk-in shower. It’s the kind of bathroom that he would sometimes see on TV at the Omega center and wonder where in the world something that extravagant existed. What the people were like who lived with something like that.

The final door does indeed lead into a walk-in wardrobe. Even with all the additional clothing Steve’s bought him, Bucky barely fills a quarter of the space, but he hangs everything up carefully anyway.

He doesn’t really settle into sleep that night. The bed’s too big, too foreign, too nice. He shifts and punches the pillows restlessly, giving up around midnight and heading into the living room. Maybe some late night TV might lull him into sleep.

It seems that he isn’t the only one having trouble sleeping.

Steve is splayed on the couch in front of the TV, watching some movie or other, the volume nearly on mute. He’s dressed in a ratty-looking t-shirt and old pajama pants. The pajamas are thin cotton, the fabric so worn that Bucky can see Steve’s thigh muscles, the shape of his dick where it rests between spread-out legs.

It takes Steve a moment to see him standing on the edge of the hallway, still unsure of his own welcome, shifting from foot to foot. Steve beckons him over. It feels like a command, one that Bucky’s body wants to obey.

But rather than sitting on the sofa next to Steve, his legs fold in on themselves as if ordered, kneeling in front of Steve on the plush carpet. The fingers of his good hand reaching for Steve’s knee. Touch light on that thin fabric, feeling the hot skin underneath.

Steve’s eyes are huge, looking down at Bucky with a mix of apprehension and hunger.

“Let me make you feel good, Steve.’

Bucky’s fingers, the flat of his palm slowly creeping up Steve’s thigh, catching the fabric. He can see the fat length of Steve’s cock swelling, now clearly pressing against his underwear, tenting the pajamas obscenely. He hooks his fingers in the waistband, tugging the fabric down, letting Steve’s cock pop free. Fat and swollen against his belly.

“Let me thank you.”

It’s not that Bucky’s done this that many times. A few fumblings at the back of a car in high school. One of the jock Alphas holding his head while Bucky knelt in the footwell. He’d lied in the interview too, figured at the time that his answers wouldn’t matter that much. Lied about his experience. The number of partners. What he’d done.

But he wants to try his best, licking the head of Steve’s cock, sucking it gently into his mouth. It’s bitter and musky, salty, and somehow strangely comforting. Making him want more, so he laps at the head, tasting the wetness there. Tries to push the foreskin back with his lips.

Steve’s thrown his arm over his face like he doesn’t want to look, but his legs are spread obscenely wide. Bucky tries to not be put off, shuffling closer, his shoulders bumping the inside of Steve’s legs as he tries to take Steve deeper into his mouth. He gags a bit when the head hits too far, Steve’s fingers clenching in his hair.

He uses his hand, can feel the loose skin at the base of Steve’s dick. He plays with it, teases where the beginnings of Steve’s knot is swelling. All the while sucking on the head, letting it slide over his tongue. The salty taste of Steve smearing over his palate.

Steve starts to rock, gently fuck into Bucky’s mouth, one hand steady on the back of his head. Bucky tries to open up into it, relax his jaw, let Steve use him as he pleases.

“Fuck, that’s so good.”

The syllables stretch in Steve’s mouth, filthy and praising all the same. His other hand is heavy on Bucky’s shoulder. It feels good, the touch, Steve’s fingers in his hair, hand on his shoulder, cock in his mouth. It’s been such a long time since anyone touched him, anyone, except for doctors and nurses to whom he was just a piece of meat.

It makes his insides hum like a struck bell, and he moans around Steve’s dick. Steve grips his hair in response and Bucky whines in the back of his throat, _more, more_ , an instinctual Omega sound. Suckling greedily at the flesh filling his mouth.

He can feel the tension in Steve’s thighs, a slight tremble to them now, but Bucky doesn’t know what to do. Steve pulls back while Bucky is trying to swallow him down and the come sprays over his lips and chin.

Steve’s eyes pop open, shocked, finally looking down at Bucky. His hand comes around Bucky’s head, thumb collecting the semen on Bucky’s cheek, pressing it into his mouth. Holding it there until Bucky sucks it clean. It’s a silent, still moment, both of them looking at each other. Bucky feels moored, anchored for the first time since…well, for the first time.

But then, Steve pulls his thumb back, pulls his hands away, scrambles up from the sofa like Bucky’s touch burns him. Bucky watches as Steve disappears down the hall, the low hum in his body slowly silencing.

He doesn’t know how long he kneels in place, waiting maybe, even when he’s pretty sure that Steve isn’t coming back. Eventually, he goes back to his room, washes his face in that opulent bathroom, and crawls into the welcoming clutches of the giant luxurious bed.

He’s strangely warm when he wakes up, but it’s not an unpleasant sensation. Just something warm settled into his belly. He makes breakfast, as usual, English muffins and bacon today. Lays out the orange juice on the breakfast bar, slices up the rest of the bloomer.

When Steve walks out of his room, he’s already in his workout clothes, but his hair is still adorably mussed up. For some reason, that makes Bucky blush, and he tries to hide it by turning back to the bacon sizzling on the hob. He doesn’t see Steve approach, doesn’t see him stop by the breakfast bar like he’s been struck.

“What the hell?”

Bucky looks up and sees Steve looking at him, incredulous now. His nostrils working, scenting the air. Slowly he moves closer, _prowls_ across the short distance between them until he has Bucky pressed tight into the counter.

It hits Bucky right then, the warmth in the base of his belly, sliding down his tailbone like syrup, his hole suddenly thrumming with blood, with need, with _heat_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all the kudos and comments and bookmarks! *hugs you all* And apologies for the pornhanger... *sorry!not!sorry*


	4. yet my soul seeks

 

He’s gotten so used to the sight of Bucky in his kitchen that he doesn’t even notice the scent at first. Setting up his headphones and loading up a playlist. Getting ready for a short run before breakfast. Ready to shout an ETA to Bucky across the room before heading out.

The feeling sneaks up on him, and then it’s suddenly there, present like a vice gripping his insides. Familiar but forgotten. Steve nearly stumbles, leaning to hold himself up against the wall.

“What the hell?”

The words are out of his mouth like a gasp. This is what he’d wanted to avoid, but it’s what Bucky is here for, isn’t he? To get Steve to rut. The feeling coils in his belly, the growl in his throat before he even realizes he’s vocalizing.

Bucky’s looking up at him from the kitchen, holding a spatula, his face a picture of confusion.

Steve moves fast, the way his training has taught him to. A spark of anger in his gut at the powerlessness he’s feeling, at the loss of control. Crowding Bucky into the corner of the kitchen, shoving him against the counter. Savoring that sharp inhale. Pressing his face into the sweet, sweet scent pouring from the glands on Bucky’s neck. Inhaling like his life depends on it.

The ache of his knot is already starting in his groin. The pressing need to mate, to take, to claim what is rightfully his. Growling deep from his belly, demanding submission, and Bucky whines in response. Low in his chest, angling his head back and allowing Steve in.  _Submitting_.

It makes Steve growl even more. Makes him press in, tongue and lips and teeth over Bucky’s scent glands, sucking on the skin, marking him, the way he should be marked. Eventually, he lifts head away, admiring the purpling bruise, running his fingers over the skin. Proprietary in his motions.

He hates it and loves it in equal measure. The loss of control, the ache and the pleasure all wrapped into one, and for once a willing Omega below him. Steve tries to get a hold of all the raging emotions running through his brain. Catch them like slippery fish in a stream.

_Nothing more than animals, you Alphas. Even you, you fucking runt._

He’s breathing hard now, short puffs through his nose, agitated, and Bucky’s hand is suddenly over his cheek, holding him ohso-gently. Looking at him with those luminous eyes, wide and breathless.

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay.”

Leaning into Steve’s body, letting him bear Bucky’s weight. His nose and lips nuzzling the side of Steve’s neck, scenting him in return. Humming and whining, low and needy. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

Steve slides his hands over Bucky’s back, feeling the trembling muscles there. Buries his face into Bucky’s neck again, chasing that scent, wanting it to drown out his thoughts. Those destructive notions always chasing him. Slides his hands down and down into the back of Bucky’s sweatpants, in between his asscheeks, finding that tight little hole with his fingers. Greedy, he’s so greedy.

He’s fantasized about this. Thought about spreading Bucky open, burying his face, his hands, his cock in that sweetness. There’s already a small well of wetness on the fleshy furl of Bucky’s anus when his fingers slide into the cleft.

Bucky seems to unravel as Steve runs his fingers over his entrance, getting wetter as Steve presses down on that tight ring. Still whining, the pitch of it increasing with each press of Steve’s thumb. He’s rewarded with a moan as he slides the tip of a finger inside, easing Bucky open slowly, feeling the frantic clutch of his muscles. The desperate little huff of Steve’s name.

Bucky’s rocking back and forth like he doesn’t know how to move with the intrusion, and Steve pushes in deeper, biting down on the glands under his teeth again. Not enough to break skin, but enough for it to sting. Enough for Bucky to press up onto his toes, to pant into Steve’s shoulder, unintelligible words into the cotton of his t-shirt.

Steve’s finger’s sunk now to the second knuckle, feeling the wetness build in Bucky’s channel. Slowly starting to drip down, into the web of skin between Steve’s fingers, down the back of his hand.

He’s half a mind to spin Bucky around, bend him over the counter and just fuck him right there, but he resists the urge. There are other things he wants first. He wants to savour this. So instead, he pulls Bucky into him, walking them backwards out of the kitchen, never taking his finger out. Keeping Bucky trapped like a prey in a lure, pushing him down into the couch when they reach the living room. Arranging him to his liking. Pressing his chest over the backrest, knees spread and ass up. Bucky’s bowing his head against the back of the couch, flushed face hidden between his forearms. Back arched, _presenting_.

Steve growls in approval, roughly shoving Bucky’s sweatpants down to his knees, finally revealing that round, pert bottom he’d been secretly admiring in those nice new jeans. If he’s totally honest with himself, that desire had formed the basis of most of his choices back in the store.

With Bucky’s legs spread out and back arched, Steve can see the pink, tight hole. Almost winking at him between Bucky’s legs, puffy and wet from Steve’s earlier ministrations. He runs his fingers down the valley of Bucky’s ass, forcing him to spread his legs even wider, pressing his cheeks apart with his thumbs, revealing his hole fully to Steve’s gaze.

Bucky yelps into the couch when Steve licks him from taint to tailbone, his body trembling under Steve’s hands. Not for the first time, Steve wonders if Bucky is indeed as experienced as he’d claimed in the interview, but dismisses the idea almost instantly. Presses his face back into the cleft of Bucky’s ass, laving at his tight, clenching hole. Slow, patient sweeps of his tongue.

Bucky gets so wet, his slick smearing all over Steve’s lips and jaw and nose. His anus relaxing slowly, so slowly, under Steve’s tongue, eventually letting him in. Letting him press in with two thick fingers, feel the slippery walls of Bucky’s channel. He finds the nub of Bucky’s prostate and is rewarded with another yelp just from a brief, feathery touch.

With a bit of coaxing, Bucky settles into a rhythm, rolling back into Steve’s fingers, whining, pushing back against the touch, rocking on his knees, offering himself up. Silently asking for more. With Steve kissing over his lower back, the swell of his buttocks and the crease of his thighs as he works his fingers in Bucky’s hole, stretching him. The skin is hot under his lips, feverish from the heat.

“Good boy.”

Steve’s not sure where the words come from, but Bucky just whines louder, his toes curling into the cushions of the soffa, little desperate noises against the backrest where his face is still hidden.

He’s still so tight around Steve’s fingers, clenching down and trying to take him, hungry little cunt. Steve slides his other hand down Bucky’s thighs, between his legs, feeling Bucky’s cock. He’s wet there too. The tip dripping against the fabric of the couch. His balls tight and drawn up when Steve rolls them in his palm.

He works his thumb inside the foreskin, pressing the edge of his thumb into the slit at the tip, all the while working his fingers in Bucky’s ass, relentless over his prostate. Curling and beckoning. Bucky screams as he comes; wet, hot pulses over Steve hand and the tight clutch of his anus around Steve’s fingers.

“Good boy, that’s it, good boy.”

He gentles his hand over Bucky’s belly but doesn’t take his fingers out of his ass, spreading them as he fucks into Bucky’s channel, forcing him open even more. Working out the last tremors of his orgasm and beyond, until Bucky’s trembling and trying to pull back, overstimulated and sore.

Slick is now running down his thighs. The honeyed scent of his heat suffusing the whole room. Steve wonders if the couch is even salvageable after this. It doesn’t matter. He’s going to keep it anyway, take it into his room, live surrounded by Bucky’s scent.

The ache in his groin has become almost secondary to pleasing Bucky, to hearing his desperate little moans and squeals as Steve works him open, but it’s becoming harder and harder to ignore his own needs now with Bucky panting and boneless in front of him.

Steve runs his thumb over that already swollen and tender hole, wet and messy from his fingers and tongue. He wants Bucky to be ready, wants it to feel good. Secretly wanting Bucky to remember this, to think of it later, eclipsing all those other Alphas who’ve been here before him.

Bucky’s limp and easy as Steve arranges him into the couch. Pulls his sweatpants off fully and throws them somewhere on the floor. Pushing Bucky’s face and chest into the cushions, angling his ass up. His thighs tremble, but he holds himself up with a grunt.

“Good boy…”

Steve can’t help but praise, running his hands down Bucky’s sweaty back, under the damp fabric of his t-shirt, rub over the bumps of his spine.

“Such a good boy.”

Bucky moans what Steve thinks is his name, the sound muffled into the seat of the couch. He straddles Bucky’s legs, his knees on the outside of Bucky’s calves. Finally pushing down his own running shorts, pulling his cock out. Fat and hard, the angry red tip already peeking from the folds of his foreskin. He squeezes the base, rubs over the loose skin where the knot is already tender and almost ready.

He shuffles forward, pressing his thighs into the backs of Bucky’s legs, rutting into the valley of Bucky’s ass, slicking up his cock in Bucky’s juices. Pressing the fat tip into the furl of Bucky’s anus, into the tempting little flex of it. Teasing, pleased by the little hitched moans Bucky’s letting loose into the couch. His face is pressed on its side, and Steve can see his lips, open and bitten red.

He can’t help himself then, pressing in, finally fucking the way his body is demanding him to, rough and hard. Bucky yells at the penetration, the noise muffled into the cushions. He twist and jerks in Steve’s grip, his hands forming fingertip shapes bruises over Bucky’s hips and ass. Leaning over Bucky’s back, covering him with his body. Breathing in the scent, his kisses strangely gentle on the back of Bucky’s neck. Soothing nonsense even as Steve growls into the sweaty skin. His hips working like pistons as he ruts into Bucky’s sweet, tight hole.

Steve can feel his knot finally starting to swell, the sweet relief of it. Bucky yelps as the half-blown knot pops past his rim for the first time, his hips stuttering in Steve’s hold.

“That’s it, sweet thing, just the knot, just relax.”

He rubs his thumb over that stretched-out, puffy rim, feeling Bucky tremble, hearing those hitched little breaths that he’s come to love in such a short space of time. Those sweet sounds he needs to hear.

“Take it, sweetheart. Just like that.”

He pulls out with an obscene plop and Bucky cries out, Steve’s name garbled on his lips. Steve doesn’t give him any reprieve, pressing back in, fucking him in short sharp thrusts, keeping his knot inside Bucky’s tight, contracting channel.

Bucky comes again with a desperate little yell, his hole clenching around Steve’s knot, forcing him to fuck deeper. Holding Bucky’s hips up and in place, tight into the cradle of Steve’s hips as he ruts into that tight hole.

His orgasm feels like it’s been punched out of him when Steve finally comes, his body shaking with the force of it, from the sweet relief as his knot finally ties them together. The squeeze of Bucky’s inner walls milking him dry.

He curls around Bucky’s back afterwards, pulling him into his chest possessively, sucking kisses into the nape of his neck, nosing Bucky’s long hair out of the way. Keeping them pressed together, the knot safe and secure inside Bucky’s body, keeping them tied.

Steve loses time like that, mouth open and inhaling Bucky’s scent. He’s still against Steve, breathing finally steady and deep, his ribs expanding and contracting within Steve’s hold.

 

 

He wakes up from his stupor when Bucky shifts against him on the couch, cock slipping out of Bucky’s ass, the knot finally gone down. The haze of rut finally easing.

“Bucky, shit. Bucky… I’m so sor…”

“Shh… it’s okay, Steve.”

Bucky turns in his arms, spine and shoulders now pressed against the back of the couch. He touches Steve’s cheek again, gentle like he did in the kitchen all those hours ago.

“It’s what I’m here for.”

It’s like a bucket of cold water over him. He tries to pull away, but Bucky won’t let him. Hand suddenly tight around Steve’s wrist, pulling him back into the couch, against Bucky’s body. He’s surprisingly strong, voice and eyes pleading.

“Please. Just stay. Just this once. Just a little bit. Please.”

He feels Bucky shivering. Smells the heat in the air between them. When he looks down, he can see Bucky already half-hard against his thigh, his t-shirt ridden up to his ribs. His cock twitches under Steve’s gaze.

What kind of asshole is he, trying to leave an Omega in heat alone? Especially someone like Bucky, Natasha had said, someone who’s dep’d and afraid to be touched. He’s asking for touch now, after Steve’s taken what he needed, sated his urges and wants.

He owes this to Bucky, this closeness and security. Letting him feel held and loved and cherished even if it a lie.

_Is it?_

A small part of his brain butts in, which Steve proceeds to ignore. He’s become very good at ignoring that little voice in the past few weeks. He eases himself back down onto the couch. It’s a bit too small for both of them, but they fit well enough if Steve fits Bucky tightly against his body.

Bucky’s lying on his side, his metal arm tucked tight under and into his body, almost like he has no feeling in it. Steve’s been reluctant to ask about it, assuming that the doctors at the Registry would have checked it out when he was cleared by their medical team.

Bucky burrows his head under Steve’s chin again, face in Steve’s chest, breathing still a bit uneven. Sweaty t-shirt glued to his back, pressing his knees and feet between Steve’s legs, seeking warmth and contact. Steve wraps his arms around Bucky’s back, hoists his leg over the top of his hip and thigh, enveloping him against Steve’s body as much as possible. Wanting to keep him warm.

He lets his hand rest on the small of Bucky’s back, just on the edge of the swell of his ass, fingers slowly petting the skin. Bucky hums into his chest and Steve can’t stop the answering rumble, the sudden, fierce protectiveness that swells in him. He knows that it’s just the hormones, just the rut talking, his lizard brain looking for a mate.

But he can’t help himself shushing Bucky’s little sighs. Rubbing up and down his back, dipping his hand in and out from under the t-shirt. Slow and steady. Comforting.

“That’s it, sweetheart.”

After a while, Bucky spreads his knees and Steve’s fingers travel down. A natural trail over his spine and tailbone and into that hot, wet cleft of his ass. Bucky’s hole feels tender, wet, the edges of it puffy, and he moans as Steve’s fingers graze by it.

With ease, Steve rolls Bucky under him, pulling his thighs up and around his hips. Sliding his hands under Bucky’s ass, feeling for his hole with the tips of his fingers. Bucky’s still wet and open from their earlier fucking, from the heat. It’s so easy for Steve to brace himself on his knees and slide his cock back inside. Grunt at the feeling of Bucky’s body sucking him in. The welcoming heat of him.

Bucky whines, closes his eyes, arching his head back into the sofa cushions as Steve fucks him. Willing and submitting so beautifully that Steve wants to weep, wants to bite down and make Bucky his forever.

But that’s not what Bucky is here for.

_What? You think someone would want you, you runt?_

It feels better than it should, Bucky wrapped around him, under him, where Steve can keep him, lock him in place. Where no one else can have him.

He’s gentler, slower this time. Rocking his hips into Bucky’s, making sure to hit his prostate on each thrust, slow and steady until Bucky’s begging him, voicelessly. Sucking wet kisses over Steve’s neck, over his scent glands.

Steve rewards him by sliding his hands back under Bucky’s hips, holding each asscheek in his palms, squeezing and spreading him open as Steve presses his knot into him again. Fingers reaching to touch where they are joined, the stretched out skin of Bucky’s hole. Wanting him to feel it. A reminder that he’s Steve’s now, all of him just Steve’s.

Bucky yelps, tensing his back, pressing his heels into Steve’s ass when Steve presses a fingertip in next to his cock, stretching Bucky out further, curling that finger just inside. Feeling those hot inner walls contracting, greedily wrapping around his knot. The hot, tight clutch of Bucky’s body making Steve’s blood sing.

After they’re locked together again, Steve rolls them back onto their sides, pressing Bucky’s head back into his chest, holding him there. Pulling Bucky’s thigh over his hip. His groin flush against Bucky’s ass, Bucky’s hole stretched tight by his knot. It feels right, like the world’s finally aligned correctly.

Bucky whimpers as Steve fingers that taut skin. Steve can’t help himself, spreading their fluids around Bucky’s anus, over his taint and up his crack. Painting him with their joined scents.

They fuck a few more times in Steve’s bed during that day and into the night. Steve refuses to use Bucky’s room. It’s his and should be his alone. A sanctuary with no Alpha scent. He wants Bucky to have that.

When he wakes up the next morning, the scent is gone. That sweet honeyed heat no longer lingering in the hallway when Steve comes out of his bedroom. He’d woken up alone.

Bucky’s in the kitchen as always, but the table is piled with more food than usual. Steve looks at Bucky and the food and the cautiously hopeful look on his face. The strange sense of déjà vu.

He feels ill. Sick at himself.

So he walks out the door, through the labyrinth of hallways of the compound and into the garage. Picks one of the cars and drives out. The morning air feels cool against his face. The air smells clear; no lingering scents to distract him here.


	5. all words that are spoken

 

Bucky waits for an hour, then two, but Steve doesn’t come back. He eats some of the breakfast sitting on the counter. He’s still a bit achy and sore from yesterday, but it’s not an unpleasant feeling.

He knows it’s not what Steve wanted. That was made very clear to him this morning. Probably even during the sex, the way Steve would push his face away, like he didn’t want to look at Bucky, like he didn’t want to think who he was fucking.

Bucky wants to curl in on himself, inside that big bed, and disappear. Wake up somewhere else. As someone else. But he can’t.

The suppressants he was on clearly failed, and he should really get that fixed. Steve should be the one in control of Bucky’s heats, that was in the contract, and Bucky has already, by accident, breached the terms of the agreement. Again.

So instead of crawling back into bed, he dials Darcy’s number. She answers with her usual gusto.

“Good morning, my man, how’s it going?”

“Uh, is there a medical facility that I could go to?”

“Totally, it’s in the north wing of the compound. You wanna go now? I can give Dr. Cho a buzz.”

He might as well get it over and done with. So he can tell Steve tonight. Maybe it will be okay.

“Yeah, yeah, I think now would be good.”

When he’s made his way to the north wing, Bucky marvels at the welcome area and waiting room. He isn’t sure if he’s ever been to a medical facility that looked this shiny and new. There’s no one else in there. The leather chairs are comfortable and the windowsill littered with orchids. The air smells clean and fresh, and Bucky can see the small scent-dampeners in each corner of the room.

He only waits for about ten minutes before being called in. The consulting room is also unlike anything he’s seen before. Clean and fresh-smelling like the foyer, it makes him think of a spa rather than a doctor’s office. Or what he would imagine a spa to be like.

Dr. Cho is a small Asian woman with sharp eyes and a calm manner. Bucky hates doctors as a rule, but he doesn’t mind Dr. Cho too much, at least not on first introduction.

She shakes his hand, giving him a small, short smile. Her Beta pheromones muted and calming.

“James, I must apologize. I should have arranged an appointment with you as soon as you arrived, but Captain Rogers did not fill in the correct paperwork, so it was missed out.”

Bucky just shrugs, shakes his head. “That’s okay, they did a check at the Registry.”

Dr. Cho purses her lips at the mention of the Registry, her low opinion of the facility clear as day on her face.

“In any case, I would like to make sure that everyone under my care at the compound has the best medical care possible. We will do a comprehensive health check on you, but was there anything particular that you came here for today?”

The open-ended question makes Bucky fidget; he wonders how much she knows about his contract. Maybe she has the medical files from the Registry and is just trying to get him to admit to something.

“Uh, yeah, I…yesterday, I had my first heat for about seven months. They gave me suppressants at the Registry before I got here, but, ah, I’m not sure if they’re really working.”

Bucky doesn’t mention that he had been quadrupling the dose before. He’s still too wary to say anything about it.

“Alright, what is your cycle usually like?”

“Uh, it’s a bit all over the place.”

Bucky doesn’t know how to tell her that it’s strangely frequent and the suppressants don’t seem to work that well. He’d managed for a year with over-using the generic suppressants, the one thing the Omega center was good for, really. They’d provided free suppressants to all Omegas who went there. No need to distract Alphas on the street, and it keeps unwanted pregnancies to a minimum.

Breeding licenses are government controlled, after all.

Dr. Cho makes small talk while she takes his bloods. Two vials, but Bucky’s pretty used to being poked and prodded now. The pain from the needle doesn’t really register anymore. But she touches the side of his arm and looks him in the eye as she does it, so he doesn’t space out this time.

She packs the samples into a case and calls a technician to pick them up for the lab. Then she shows him to an exam couch, patting the paper-covered surface.

“Could you take your shirt off so that I can listen to your heart and lungs?”

Awkwardly, he pulls off the henley and the t-shirt he’s wearing, sitting down on the table carefully.

Her hands are small and the round of the stethoscope is cold when she touches him.

 

 

He comes to sitting on the table, looking at the bright, white wall, his henley and t-shirt bunched up in his good hand. He doesn’t know how long has passed.

Dr. Cho is sitting on her chair by the desk, a good distance away from him, but still facing Bucky and talking. Her voice is melodious and even.

“.... my grandmother used to make the kimchi from 200 heads of cabbage! That was a lot of cabbage. This was kimjang kimchi, actually, made with all my aunties at the beginning of winter. It was meant to last until the spring, but if my brothers found the containers there was little chance of that!”

She seems to realize that he’s now looking at her, eyes slowly focusing.

“How are you feeling, James?”

He feels slow and sluggish, not really yet there at all, but he doesn’t want to tell her that. Instead he says “Okay.” It’s more of a croak than a word. So he tries again with “thank you.”

Dr. Cho smiles gently but doesn’t get up from her chair.

“You dissociated while I was examining you.”

Bucky wonders if that’s the fancy word for when he goes away, like at the Registry. It happens at medical places, always, but no one’s ever had a name for it. Or talked to him. Or waited it out.

He feels grateful and ashamed.

“Would you like to put your shirt back on?”

Bucky nods and struggles back into his shirts. She doesn’t move or try to help. That mix of shame and gratitude is still swirling in his belly.

When he’s dressed again, Dr. Cho explains that he’s perfectly healthy, bar anything that might come from the blood work, but if he feels up to it, there is something else that she would like to check.

“As you’ve just finished your heat, I’d like to make sure that everything is okay. I’d just need to feel through your tummy if that would be alright? No internals, okay?”

It’s not something that he wants to do, but he should. This is why he’s here, to sort this out so that he doesn’t breach the contract again. So he lies back. Opens the buttons of his jeans, but doesn’t take them off. He isn’t quite ready for that yet. Dr. Cho doesn’t seem to mind, just pushed the band of his underwear down past his hip bones. Bucky’s body jerks at the contact, and her hands still.

“Could you…could you talk? Not about this…”

She smiles a little then, still keeping her hands still, straight in his eye line.

“Of course, James. Would you like to know how kimchi is made?”

“Yeah, okay.”

He doesn’t look at her, lets his eyes map the pattern in the paintwork of the ceiling. Following her voice as she starts to speak. She’s more animated now, her voice somehow warmer.

“So when you have your cabbages, and if the cabbage cores stick out too much, trim them off with a sharp knife. You will then need to split all the cabbages in half without shredding the inside leaves.

“First cut a short slit in the base of the cabbage, enough to get a grip on either half and then gently pull the halves apart so the cabbage splits open.

“Cut a slit through the core of each half, about two inches above the stem. This depends a bit on the size of cabbages. You want the cabbage leaves to be loose but still attached to the core.”

As she speaks, her hands are gently pressing down over his belly. There’s pressure, but it’s not painful, just odd. Her fingers digging in, pressing down in a scooping motion.

“When you have cut all the cabbages, dunk the halves in a large basin of water to get them good and wet. You will then need to sprinkle salt between the leaves by lifting up every leaf and getting salt in there. You have to use quite a lot of salt closer to the stems, where the leaves are thicker.”

She has a nice, gentle voice, and she smiles as she speaks. She must be thinking of her grandmother. Bucky is thinking about her grandmother now too and not the nimble fingers working over his belly.

“I can send you the full recipe if you’d like?”

“Yeah, yeah, that would be nice.”

His voice catches at the end but she doesn’t say anything, doesn’t even look like she noticed. Bucky is pretty sure that she did notice.

Finally, she takes her hands away. She doesn’t try to adjust his clothing, just turns to wash her hands in the sink by the examination table. Talking to him, her head turned towards him.

“Everything feels normal and in place. We can do an ultrasound at some point to make sure, but this should be enough for today.”

As Bucky is pulling his shirt back into place, there’s a knock on the door, and Dr. Cho goes to pick up the lab results from the technician.

She looks at the paperwork for a worryingly long time. Going back and forth between the two sheets of paper. When she finally speaks, her voice is serious.

“I’ll be honest with you James, I’ve never really seen bloodwork like yours on an Omega, ever.”

She puts the papers down, tapping on her tablet a few times.

“I think that the best option, for now, would be to stop all suppressants for you and let your body and your hormones calm down to their natural pattern. After this, we can look at options for you.”

She talks like all of this is easy, like it’s Bucky’s choice.

“What about… You know, I’m here for, I’m not really sure Captain Rogers would be okay with that, and in the contract...”

“Captain Rogers will do whatever I say. The contract is irrelevant. Your medical needs will take precedence.”

There is a sharp inflection in her tone suddenly, no room for argument. Not that Bucky would like to argue with her.

“And we can give him suppressants for his rut if that is needed.”

“Oh.”

The topic seems to be closed and she swiftly changes the subject.

“How are you getting on with your prosthetic?”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stares at her, holding the metal arm to his side.

“I admit that this is a tad beyond my area of expertise, so we may have to call Tony to take a look.”

“Tony?”

“Tony Stark. I think that you have met his mate, Pepper, already, yes?”

Bucky did indeed meet Pepper. She had been lovely and kind and gracious and Bucky had been too embarrassed to ask about Tony. An Omega engineer at the top of the world. He’s obviously backed by money and connections and a long-standing family name, but still. It’s quite unheard of.

When he doesn’t say anything, Dr. Cho continues.

“I will arrange an appointment for you. One of the drivers here can take you to the Tower.”

Afterward, he thanks her and goes home. The apartment is silent and empty. Bucky’s not sure why he’d expected something different.

All he wants to do is sleep, but he has to prepare dinner. Has to have something nice to give to Steve, especially tonight. Especially after what he did.

But Steve doesn’t come home that night.

Bucky eats the quiche he made alone and packs up the rest in the fridge with the side salad in a bowl. He knows it’s all his fault. He should have picked up on the heat coming on. Should have let Steve know, should have controlled himself.

He feels ashamed. Steve had gone out of his way to avoid physical contact, let alone sex, and it had clearly not been what he’d wanted.

Bucky looks at himself in the bathroom mirror under those bright lights before his shower. Naked, stripped bare and grimacing at his own reflection. Why would he have wanted to have sex with Bucky in the first place? Why would anyone? He’s damaged and ugly.

He touches the scarring briefly, just a gentle brush of his own fingers. Just that contact makes him tremble and he drops his hand. Stepping into the shower, letting the warm water wash away all memory of touch.

 

 

The next day, a blacked-out SUV drops him off outside the Stark Tower in Manhattan.

He’s still not entirely sure how Tony Stark fits in with SHIELD and the operatives who live at the compound, and he doesn’t really know how to ask without breaking all of those myriad non-disclosure agreements he’s signed.

The receptionist smiles at him and directs him to the elevator. No dirty looks or questioning why he’s there. The clothes and a month of eating well must really be doing something for him.

The elevator doors close around him and the number pad selects floor 79 automatically. When the doors slide open again, there’s no one waiting for him, just a huge open-plan space filled with…things. Junk. Devices that Bucky doesn’t even have a name for.

He steps out, slowly. Walks towards the center of the room.

“Yo, Terminator, over here.”

Bucky spins around, body tense and ready to…but no, he doesn't do that anymore either.

“Cho sent me a note about the arm, so let’s take a look.”

Tony Stark is standing behind a huge desk littered with electronics and strange parts and boxes of contraptions. Looking straight at Bucky with an unreadable expression. It’s not hostile, more curious.

When Bucky doesn’t move, Tony throws some kind of a wrench in the air and catches it in the other hand.

“Metal arm, right, connected to your nervous system? That’s why you’re here, yeah?”

Bucky just nods mutely, and Tony cocks his head to the side.

“Does Rogers prefer you this silent?”

Finally, Bucky finds his voice with a vehement “Fuck you.”

It seems to be the right thing as Tony laughs, his smile reaching his eyes.

“Ah, the mystery man does speak. Excellent. Come on now, don’t hold out on me here, let’s see the goods.”

He makes a grabby motion with his hands but makes no move to come out from behind his desk and closer to Bucky.

Bucky considers the set-up for a moment and then shrugs. It can’t really get any weirder. Probably. He takes off his coat, and pulls his henley over his head, revealing the metal arm. He fiddles with the bottom of his t-shirt, not really wanting to take it off. But before he can say anything...

“Holy hell my friend, that is one sweet little machine you have there.”

“Uh, it doesn’t really work.”

He tries to move it now, feels the strain inside his shoulder, sparks where he assumes the nerve grafts to be. The arm emits a high-pitched whine and jerks against his side, pain running down his back.

“Yeah, I can see that. Jarvis, scan please.”

“Right away, Sir.” a disembodied voice says in response. It seems to be coming from the walls somehow, and suddenly a 3D projected layout of his arm starts filling over the table in front of Tony.

Okay, he was wrong. It can totally get weirder.

Tony looks at the model as it fills the space in front of him, rotating it in the air with his hands. Poking and prodding parts which light up under his fingers.

“Fucking hell, that’s a bit of a mess.”

He seems almost gleeful, fingers twitching as he pulls in parts from some kind of strange folder structure that has sprung up in the air alongside the model of the arm.

“But you’ve come to the right place. I’ll build you something better.”

Tony rummages through the table and pulls out a roll of tools, throwing the pack between his hands.

“Can I take a look?”

Bucky freezes in indecision in the middle of the room. He vaguely remembers what happened last time, and what happened with Dr. Cho. Maybe there’s something on his face that makes Tony pause, something that stills his constantly moving body.

“You’d rather I didn’t. You’d rather than no one touched it.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, but it must be obvious on his face.

“Yeah, I get that.”

And then Tony is back to fidgeting with the wrench.

“Okay, plan B. Can you take your shirt off so Jarvis can get a clean deep tissue scan?”

“Uh, sure.”

He pulls on his t-shirt, feeling exposed and vulnerable. The scarring and metal joint visible under the bright lights of the workshop. He stands still for a moment and then a set of strange lights are crisscrossing all over him, but he feels nothing.

“What’s the..?”

“Jarvis is doing a deep scan of the arm and the connecting tissue, as well as mapping all the nerve pathways. Gotta know what we’re working with if I’m gonna build you a new model. A proper upgrade…”

Tony’s monologue is interrupted by the ping of the elevator, and by Pepper Potts, who breezes out through the doors. She’s dressed casually, white shirt and jeans, but she’s still wearing a pair of towering heels and that natural Alpha command is wrapped around her like a shield.

She smiles at Bucky, crossing the floor to say hello.

“Bucky, how lovely to see you again. I do hope that Natasha kicked some sense into Captain Rogers after our dinner last time.”

She kisses Bucky on both cheeks like he’s fancy, like he’s worthy of her attention, before he can even answer.

“I would very much like to come over again for dinner and bring Tony this time.”

Her presence is a bit overwhelming. All Alpha but gentle, and so kind. Bucky feels himself flushing under her gaze.

“Uh, sure.”

Pepper smiles, a bit of a glint appearing in her eyes as she motions behind her with her head, whispering: “I hope that he’s been behaving himself.”

Tony’s up on his tiptoes, craning his head to see.

“I always behave myself, dear!”

They bicker back and forth past Bucky at a speed that he finds difficult to follow, but they are both smiling, calming. Mated pheromones in the air, and Bucky’s whole body sags in relief.

Several hours, and even more scans later, he staggers out of the Tower and into the waiting SUV. He falls asleep in the back seat of the car on the drive back, cradling his left arm protectively against his stomach.

Bucky doesn’t know this, but after he leaves, Tony sets Jarvis on the SHIELD encryption protocols. They don’t really stand a chance, and in less than three hours Tony is downloading everything there is to know about the Program and about James Buchanan Barnes.


	6. lay it to his heart

 

Steve drives to D.C without stopping, only dialing in to check that Fury is still at the Triskelion. His hands gripping the steering wheel enough to bruise the leather. Breaking every speed limit in the state of New York, Jersey and Maryland combined.

He bypasses the junior agent trying to divert him to a conference room with a “the director is currently engaged.” She jogs behind him, breathless, down the corridor – “Captain Rogers, please. The director is on a conference call” – which Steve blithely ignores.

Fury turns as the door flies open, standing still behind his desk. There’s something in the angle of his body that Steve doesn’t recognize, maybe apprehension, as he walks in, letting the door close behind him with a decisive click.

The silence stretches between them, taut with tension. The pressure slowly building in the room. Fury has muted the call, but Steve can still see the voice encryption running on the screen analyzing whatever the person on the other end is saying.

It takes him a moment to put the rage swirling in him into words. To not just lunge across all that expensive mahogany and rip Fury’s intestines out through his mouth. The impulse in itself feels somehow shocking in a distant sort of way, so unlike him.

“There’s a lot of things you have power over, Nick. We all accept that. You have the right to demand that I take an Omega, you have the right to bar me from missions if I don’t. You made that very clear.”

Steve’s voice is deathly calm as he speaks, almost quiet, conversational. He walks across the room, light and airy and all of the Potomac at their feet.

“You do not have the right to make me rape him.”

For the first time in their entire acquaintance, Steve sees Fury’s eyes widen in shock.

“Captain, I don’t…”

“He has a fucking right to choose! I…I have a fucking right to choose, Nick.”

He slams his hands down on that table. Hard. The impact reverberates through the stilted air. The thread of control he has slowly fraying.

“Captain Rogers, I don’t know…”

“You gave him faulty suppressants. You made him…damn it.”

His legs give out from under him so suddenly, collapsing into the seat by the Director’s desk. The past 24 hours suddenly catching up to him. The rage and the powerlessness pressing on his lungs like the asthma he’s supposedly grown out of. He pushed it all down on the drive, focused on his goal to get here. Now, it’s suddenly hard to breathe.

He can’t stop hearing those noises Bucky had made. Those pained little whines that first time. When Steve fucked into him. He hadn’t even asked. Hadn’t asked for permission.

Shit. Shit. _Shit_.

Fury walks around the desk, quietly, slowly sitting down on the opposite seat. His hands folded in his lap, non-threatening, palms up.

“Captain Rogers…Steve, what happened?”

He’s still fighting for breath; it’s terrifying, almost like drowning.

“He went into heat. He wasn’t supposed to. The Registry was supposed to give him suppressants. He said he was on them….”

The rage in his belly like fire, overwhelming, obliterating everything in its wake. It’s easy to concentrate on that, not the pain in his gut, not the simmering hatred he has for himself. Not the stuttered breath in his chest. Fury tenses in his chair when Steve looks up.

“You were supposed to give him suppressants. Coulson was there. But this…this is what you all fucking wanted. Wasn’t it?”

He gets up, his body coiled with the years of training, the endless hours of honing himself into a weapon, an object only useful for one thing. And he’s truly very good at it. Fury’s out of his chair and backing away as Steve advances. Steps still careful, measured on the plush carpet.

“It was gonna make me less volatile, less fucking aggressive, right?”

Fury hits the edge of the bookcase, and a fat tome falls to the floor with a muffled thud. The room is soundproofed; Steve knows this. Relies on it.

“Well, Director, do I look less fucking aggressive to you? Do I!?”

He knuckles are white, grasped around the front of Fury’s shirt, those old scars suddenly stark on the skin of his hands, wrapping around his metacarpals.

“Answer me!”

His other hand is squeezed into a fist. He’s ready. Wants to hear the crunch and squelch of bone and tissue breaking under his hands. The hot, sweet sting of blood running over his knuckles. It’s what this body is for, and he hates it. Hates that he has it in himself to hurt.

“Steve! Stop!”

He freezes more out of shock than in any genuine desire to obey the order. Natasha is standing in the doorway, full combat gear on, her headset loosely around her neck. She’s not pointing a gun, but her holster is snapped open. Her Glock 19 at the ready, her hand hovering nearby.

“Fury wasn’t behind this.”

“How would you know?” He spits the words at her, betrayed and angry, still not letting go.

“I pulled his files.”

“What?”

“Barnes’ files from the Program. All of them.”

She steps into the room, lets the door close behind her, shielding the confrontation from the view of any curious bystanders.

”Including the classified ones.”

Fury raises an eyebrow at that, but doesn’t look too surprised, or maybe it’s relief. With him, it’s hard to tell, and Natasha has always had a knack for disarming situations with other Alphas.

Slowly Steve lets go, lets his fingers uncurl from the lapel of Fury’s jacket. The motion is reluctant, while Natasha waits, her hand still hovering by her gun. She doesn’t stand down until Steve’s stepped back and put several feet between himself and the Director.

Her hand is easy and familiar on his elbow, but strong like steel when she finally steps forward to his side.

“Come with me.”

He leaves Fury standing by the bookcase, not looking back.

Natasha does have an office in the building. It’s small and empty, but there are two uncomfortable chairs there, which they are both now sitting on.

His chest still hurts, his breathing shallow and uneven. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just sits with him in the quiet. Steve closes his eyes, listens to their breathing, trying to match hers. Natasha’s scent, her smooth Alpha pheromones, calm him almost against his will, like an animal in a herd.

He doesn’t know how long they sit there, dark and quiet, his eyes closed. She doesn’t touch him, but he hears her inhale, the rhythm of her breath changing, as she prepares to speak.

“They augmented his metabolism. That’s why the suppressants the Registry gave him didn’t work.”

The room seems brighter when he opens his eyes, looks up at her. Her face is a neutral mask as always, but there’s a hint of that softness she only shows to a select few. She reaches for a folder on her desk, thumbs it open.

“Have you noticed that he eats quite a lot?”

Steve hasn’t, not really. It feels like another betrayal, like he’s not even good enough Alpha to make sure that his Omega is fed.

 _His Omega_. Fuck.

“How…what did they…what did they do to him?”

That innocuous brown folder on her desk. He’s not sure if he wants to see what’s in that file, not sure if he has the right to see them. The right to look at Bucky like he’s just a number on a sheet, like he’s not a person at all.

“How didn’t I notice? How could I be that stupid?”

He hates how his voice catches, and Natasha’s eyes soften, the impenetrable wall of hers shifting aside for just a moment.

“It’s okay, Steve. We all make mistakes.”

“Not like this. Not like I did.”

“Then apologize. Tell him you’re sorry. He’ll listen.”

Bucky would listen. Because he has to, has to live with Steve and be with him and cook for him and…

“You know, they used to say it to me, back in the day?”

“What?”

“‘You’ll only get if you pay for it.’ I was this fucking little shrimp.”

“Steve…”

“And it’s still true. SHIELD is paying Bucky to fuck me. How fucking pathetic is that?”

She opens her mouth to say something, but then suddenly closes it with a decisive click. Maybe she wanted to contradict him, but they both know how useless that is. Both of them have their own crosses to bear. Natasha’s maybe the only one who understands that. He’s strangely grateful for her silence, for the space to speak.

“They knew I was an Alpha. ‘Cause of the genetic testing, you know, but I didn’t present till I was 21. I grew over a foot and put on nearly a hundred pounds in just over three years, and suddenly I was this Alpha that everyone wanted.”

He laughs, but there’s no humor in it. The sound dry and brittle. She reaches out then, touches him. Just a press of her palm over his forearm.

“These guys and girls I’d grown up with, who’d never given me the time of day, suddenly wanted to talk to me, wanted to go out on dates, asked after me from my ma. They never even really saw me.

“I joined up ‘cause I wanted to get away. Government-mandated breeding was suddenly something I had to worry about.”

Natasha nods. She knows too, Steve is aware. The FSB especially wants to breed its top Alphas. Steve’s never asked her about the time before her defection. Doesn’t ask about it now; it feels too personal.

“You and Clint…you’re lucky.”

“It’s not as straightforward as it looks, you know.”

She smiles, but it’s tight, warning him off the topic and Steve lets it drop. Natasha never speaks about it, not really. The honeytrap that turned into a partnership that turned into a relationship. They all let her have her secrets.

She pulls out a sheet of paper from the folder. Distracting, moving on, both of them uncomfortable with too much emotional vulnerability.

“That’s not everything. There were others. I tracked down everyone who was discharged after that whole clusterfuck with the Program.”

Steve takes the paper, looks down at the list of names. All Omegas. Looks at their names, dates of birth and not much else. Like they’re nothing but numbers. Bucky’s there too, fifth from the top.

“They’re all dead. All of them except Barnes.”

“How?”

There are so many names on the list. So many Omegas who no one gave a shit about.

“Tumors mostly. One case of pulmonary fibrosis, and someone with aplastic anemia.”

Steve has no idea what most of the words mean, but none of it sounds good. He thinks of Bucky and the way he holds his arm. The way he snuffled in his sleep that one and only night they spent together.

“We have to get Bucky to Cho!”

He’s half-out of his chair, but Natasha places a calming hand over his forearm again, presses him to sit back down.

“Easy, Steve. She’s already seen him. His blood work was fine, he’s okay. Except for some really funky advanced metabolism, he doesn’t seem to be suffering from anything.”

“But is Cho sure? We need to be sure!”

There’s an edge of hysteria in his voice.

“Yes, Steve, she’s pretty sure.”

“Pretty sure!? That’s not…”

He can’t help the panic, the press of it in his chest like he still can’t breathe. Natasha leans over him, her scent suddenly strong, calming and assertive.

“Steve. Bucky is afraid of medical personnel. Cho’s working with him slowly, she’s done blood work and a basic check-up with him and he seems to be doing well. Just give her time. Bucky’s going to be fine.”

“Okay, okay. Sure.”

The thought of Bucky sick, wounded and helpless. Strapped to a table, experimented on. His stomach rolls ominously, the paper crumpling in his hands. He wants to make it not exist, wants to remove that pain that Bucky might have gone through. If he could just smash it up, destroy it with his own hands. Hands that are just meant to ruin things.

He’s jolted out of his thoughts by a hesitant knock on the door and the head of the junior agent poking cautiously through the crack after Natasha calls to them to enter. There’s a worried frown on her face, even more so than when she tried to bar Steve from Fury’s office.

“I know this isn’t an ideal time, but there’s a situation you should know about.”

Steve knows it’s part of the job as they all gear up, when they load up into the jet. He hopes that someone tells Bucky. Hopes that he won’t worry. Hopes that someone will look after him. 

 

 

It’s three weeks later when he finally gets home.

He’d let Darcy know about the mission. She would have let Bucky know, even if it hadn’t been her job; she’s just so gobby in general. He’s being a bit mean, but he was shot twice, so he has some leeway on being crappy.

Bruised ribs and a nasty bullet wound on his thigh. Getting shot really, really sucks.

He’d tried to text Bucky, tried to form something to say, looking at that blinking cursor on his phone almost all the way across the Atlantic. He couldn’t think of anything to say. Anything beyond those words stuck in his throat. Those words that you must never say, not to an Omega companion, not to someone who’s paid to be with him.

Dr. Cho is there to welcome him at the entrance to the medical wing where the car drops him off. Her face is as unreadable as always, a cool mask of indifference, but she takes Steve’s bag off his shoulder. Her beta scent muted and still. He wonders if her detachment is practiced.

He has to lean on her, body aching from the strain of walking, from the journey back to the compound. The kevlar probably saved his life, but his ribs aren’t thanking him for it right now. He could have stayed at SHIELD medical, but he wanted to come home.

Cho checks his ribs gently, careful of the bruising. His x-rays from the SHIELD medical team are already uploaded to her systems, pulled up on the computer screen by her work station. She examines the site of the gunshot, and the stitches, and changes the dressings for a fresh set.

“I’ll come and change the dressings once a day at your apartment, I want to keep an eye on the healing. If you need it changed again, just give me a call.”

Cho’s on call for them 24 hours a day. Steve’s pretty sure that Clint has her as the number one contact on his speed dial, well, maybe number two, after Natasha.

She loads him up with a bag of pain medication and antibiotics, listing each of them and when and how many to take in the note slipped into a plastic side pocket of the bag. Then she pulls out an ampoule and a needle, setting up a shot with sure, practiced hands.

“I’m going to give you a shot. You’ve got an Omega in heat in your quarters, but your body can’t handle rut right now.”

“What? How’s he…”

She flicks the needle with her forefinger and sprays a tiny amount of liquid out, clearing out any air bubbles.

“I’ve taken him off suppressants until his metabolism and cycle even out a bit more. We’ll be able to figure out a better set-up for him then.”

She looks up sharply, the needle still poised in her hand.

“I assume that it will not be a problem, Captain?”

He would be well within his rights to say that yes, it is a problem. The contract gives him full authority over Bucky’s medical decisions, and most physicians would encourage him to make those choices. He’s wondered about Cho sometimes, wondered what she's seen before to make her so radical, so disobedient of social norms. Now more than ever he wants to ask, voice those questions. Instead, he quickly shakes his head.

“No, ma’am, of course not.”

He flushes at the thought of Bucky in heat, alone, waiting for him. Or maybe he’s not waiting. Maybe there’s someone else there, taking care of him where Steve’s failed to. The thought hurts, but it would be what he deserves.

He yelps when Cho stabs him in the arm, a small smile playing around her lips, and she presses the plunger down. Then she helps him get dressed and back into the residential wing. The walk is long and painful, the pain medication kicking in slowly.

Bucky is there, waiting for him in the living room, hovering, smelling delicious and ripe. Cho must have called him, let him know.

He takes over from her with a quiet “thanks,” and helps Steve to bed, fluffs his pillows, adjusts the water bottle and the fruit plate waiting on his bedside table. Makes sure that his pain medication is near. Reads the timings of all the pills from the little note Cho left in the medicine bag.

Then Bucky retreats to the door, hovering again.

“I can leave you alone.”

His voice is heartbreaking. Like he really doesn’t want to go, but is prepared for it. Standing on the edge of the doorway like all he wants is to be invited in.

“Bucky…I want you here. It’s okay.”

Steve struggles for words, mind hazy, the pain in his side now dulled to a far-away throb with the help of the best drug cocktail money can buy. Bucky fidgets, and Steve is slowly starting to recognize it a diversionary tactic. Look at his hands, not his face, not those expressive eyes.

“Just last time, I know I’m not good…”

That feels more like a punch to the chest than the bullet had.

“Bucky…what? That’s not…you are.”

“I mean the heat last time. It wasn’t…what…what you wanted.” he finishes miserably.

“I did. Bucky, I did. Please.”

He rubs the space beside him, tries to look open, welcoming, soft, not so sure of his own success. He knows he should apologize, knows that they should talk, but Steve isn’t sure if Bucky is ready, if this is the right time.

“Please, come here. I want you here.”

As soon as the words leave his mouth, Bucky’s bolting across the room and crawling into the bed faster than Steve can blink. Burying his face into Steve’s armpit, trying to scent, his ribs working as he breathes. Curled around Steve’s good side, careful of his ribs. Trembling, his hand grasped around the fabric of Steve’s t-shirt over his belly, holding on like he’s afraid of being pushed away.

“Hey, hey, it’s okay, Buck.”

The nickname comes so naturally that he doesn’t even think about it. Bucky says nothing, so he doesn’t correct himself.

“Shh, it’s okay. I’m right here.”

He curls his fingers into the nape of Bucky’s neck. It’s a private, sensitive spot for Omegas. Something only a close family or a loved one would touch, to bring comfort, give the feeling of safety. Bucky moans at the touch, curling tighter into Steve’s side, but his body is relaxing. Slowly.

“You are good. So good, Bucky.”

He’d kissed Bucky there, nosed the space almost on instinct all those weeks ago.

He can still smell the heat again, the sweet honeyed scent, but it doesn’t have the same dizzying effect as last time. The suppressants keep him calm and grounded and flaccid. Another lovely side effect, but Steve doesn’t mind it right now. It allows him to just concentrate on Bucky for now.

He’s snuffling into Steve’s side, warm huffs of his breath through the t-shirt Steve’s wearing. After a while, Bucky starts a slow grind against the side of Steve’s thigh, the hard line of his cock pressing against the muscle there. It’s lazy and easy, almost like Bucky’s not even conscious of doing it.

Steve runs his hand down Bucky’s back, rubs the muscles, fingers playing over the vertebrae through the cotton. Encouraging the movements; he wants Bucky to feel good, take his pleasure. He cranes his neck to get a better look and there’s a small wet patch on the back of Bucky’s sweats, his slick slowly soaking through the fabric.

Steve’s knowledge of Omega heats is not particularly extensive, having refused Omega companions his entire military career until now. But he knows that it can be painful, leaving Omegas jittery and unable to properly sleep. He doesn’t know how long this one’s lasted. He runs his hand over the slope over Bucky’s back, dipping his fingers into the waistband and feeling the wetness working its way up to the crux of Bucky’s tailbone.

Bucky whines, pushing his ass up, inviting those questing fingers. Grunting happily when Steve slides into the cleft and presses down on the puffy, wet hole. Bucky must have been touching himself, or maybe there had been someone else after all.

He sniffs covertly over Bucky’s ruffled hair, but doesn’t smell anyone else, just Bucky’s own arousal. It eases some of the tightness in his chest, which he chooses not to examine right then. Easing the tips of his pointer and forefinger in, stretching and teasing, breathing in Bucky’s scent, the minute changes as he spreads his legs, welcomes Steve into his body.

The angle is hard; he reaches and his ribs spark with pain. He breathes through it, both of them stilled, Bucky looking up at him, eyes worried.

“Buck, can you shift for a bit?”

He gets up, moves away, now on all fours on the covers, and Steve gets an idea.

“Take off your pants.”

Bucky’s face is shuttered for a moment in indecision, but then he moves, shucking off his sweats and underwear. Steve shimmies down, lying back against the pillows, pulls Bucky to straddle his chest, knees against Steve’s shoulders. His ribs twinge warningly again, but Steve ignores them, guiding Bucky to settle on his chest.

Bucky’s thighs are already slick, the skin shiny even in the low light where they’re spread over his chest. Steve runs his hands up and over the back of Bucky’s legs, fitting his palms just below his sit-spots, on that crease between thigh and buttocks.

“Steve, what…what are you…”

Without hesitation, Steve guides Bucky’s cock to his mouth. It’s flushed red and wet at the tip, peeking from the folds of his foreskin.

Bucky’s uncut. It’s unusual for a male Omega, most families opting for a circumcision. He likes the feel of it in his mouth, pressing the skin back. Likes the strangled yelp, likes the way Bucky leans into the wall behind Steve’s head.

It’s not completely uncommon, but not expected either for Alphas to pleasure their Omegas this way. He wonders if Bucky’s ever experienced it before? The short, sharp inhales say ‘no’.

He smiles, hums around the flesh in his mouth, slides his fingers back between Bucky’s buttocks, pulls his cheeks apart, finds his hole with his fingertips, wet and tacky and open. Bucky’s now fully braced against the wall behind Steve’s head. Gently, almost hesitantly fucking into Steve’s mouth.

Steve’s surrounded by him, feeling nothing but Bucky around him, enveloped in his scent, in his need. Those moans and needy little breaths that he tries valiantly to catch but fails.

Easing two fingers into Bucky’s hole, he spreads them, stretching him open, humming around his dick. Pressing his thumb roughly against Bucky’s perineum, catching his prostate between his thumb and the two fingers deep in Bucky’s ass, massaging and teasing until Bucky’s gasping and sobbing against the wall.

“Steve, Steve, fuck. Steve, I’m gonna come…”

Steve just hums, and licks the sensitive underside, keeping Bucky firmly in his mouth as he comes, salty and sweet on Steve’s tongue.

Afterward, Bucky curls into his side, snuggled under the covers, warm and sated. Steve rubs the back of his neck, teasing the hairs, pressing his fingertips into the muscles connecting to the back of his head until Bucky falls asleep.

Then he picks up the plain manilla folder from his bag by the bed, and starts to read.


	7. withdraw not your hand

 

Bucky wakes up lax and groggy, the urgency of the heat no longer gripping his body. Instead, soft fingers are curling at the back of his neck, sending waves of pleasure and comfort down his spine. There’s a scent of a contented Alpha all around him. The hum of his breath in Bucky’s ear.

He feels good. So good. The heat’s gone, but a soft sort of ease has taken its place, and Bucky doesn’t want to open his eyes and face reality. With those thick, blunt fingertips stroking into his hairline, Bucky can’t help but moan quietly. Pressing his face into warm, firm flesh under him.

“Morning, Buck.”

He tries not to, but Bucky can’t help but tense at the words, ready to move away. He doesn’t really know what to do about the nickname. It feels… _nice_. No one’s ever bothered with nicknames before.

Steve seems to sense the tension in him, his other hand smoothing over Bucky’s arm which is still wrapped around Steve’s chest. Gently curling his fingers around the back of Bucky’s hand.

“How’re you feeling?”

“Okay, I guess.”

Bucky shifts his weight and Steve grunts and then hisses in pain. Bucky uses it as an excuse to slide away, to put more space between them. He doesn’t want to, but he should. He’d been greedy enough last night. Backing out of the bed, he mumbles “I’ll get started on breakfast,” and escapes from the room before Steve even has a chance to respond.

The kitchen and living room are cool and blessedly free of any lingering scent. Eggs, English muffins, bacon and juice fill the counter as Bucky works, distracting himself with the clank of pans and the splutter and hiss of melting butter. Letting the smell of breakfast fill his nostrils, obscuring the memory of Steve.

He’s grateful when his phone trills, vibrating on the breakfast bar. Another distraction, Tony Stark’s name flashing on the screen. Bucky doesn’t think that he ever added Stark’s number to the phone, but slides to answer anyway. Stark is speaking even before Bucky has the chance for a “hello.”

“Yo, terminator. I’ve got your arm armed and ready. Armed. You got that, right?”

“Very funny, Stark.”

Bucky wedges the phone between his ear and shoulder, flipping the bacon one-handed.

“You should come over now. Pepper’ll order sushi. We’ll pop the arm in place. It’ll be a party. You’ll love it. What am I talking about, of course, you’ll love it. I’m a genius.”

“Uh, okay. Sure.”

“Excellent!” and then the line goes dead.

Bucky places the phone back on the counter. Only the bacon and eggs left to distract him now.

When Steve finally comes out of the bedroom, walking gingerly, Bucky has the full breakfast set laid out on the table and a comfortable chair ready for Steve by the dining table.

He feels Steve’s eyes on him as he serves the food, the intense way he’s suddenly looking at Bucky. It feels different, makes him anxious, jittery, and he just blurts out “I have to go to New York.”

Steve stops with a forkful of eggs halfway to his mouth, his eyes narrowing.

“Why?”

Bucky feels himself starting to fidget under Steve’s direct gaze, and tries to stop, to stand still and sound sure of himself.

“Tony Stark. He’s…he’s going to fix the arm. The prosthetic.”

“I’m coming with you.”

Steve bites into his muffin with aggression Bucky feels the food doesn’t deserve. He chews like the conversation is closed, like he’s daring Bucky to contradict him. Bucky never did have a great sense of self-preservation.

“It’s okay, you don’t have to, I can…”

“I’m coming.” Steve’s look across the table freezes any arguments Bucky might have had in his throat, and he just nods meekly like he’s supposed to. Sits down to eat his own breakfast in the stilted silence.

Darcy accosts him in the foyer while Steve is busy getting a car and a driver to come and pick them up from the front of the building.

“So I hear you’re off to the bright lights of Stark Tower.”

Bucky just shrugs, still uncertain about this particular development. Steve really shouldn’t be making the trip, not in his condition.

“Yeah. He insisted on coming with. Don’t know why. He’s still hurt.”

Darcy gives him her best shit-eating grin, like she knows a juicy secret and is about to share.

“You’ve got that look you know, that helpless baby panda look.”

Bucky gives her his best stink eye, but it just eggs her on.

“He just wants to take care of youuu…” She’s smiling like a loon.

“Shut up.”

“You’re only saying that ‘cause you know I’m right.”

He’s saved from hearing more of her stupid opinions by Steve’s arrival and the sight of one of the black SUVs pulling to the glass doors. The drive feels longer than last time with Steve’s bulk next to him in the back of the car. The way Bucky’s suddenly attuned to his breathing, listening to the shallow inhales, how Steve is still minding his ribs.

Dr. Cho is already up in the workshop when they arrive. She’s not in her lab coat, which throws Bucky briefly, but is dressed in a simple pair of black trousers and a loose green shirt. Tony’s behind his desk again, but looks up as they enter the workroom. He smirks when he catches sight of Steve.

“Yo, Spangles. Didn’t know you were attending.”

Without letting Steve answer, Tony throws something at him across the wide space, a thick brown folder, held together with twine.

“We’re keeping this old school. Eyes everywhere, yeah?”

“Sometimes I think your paranoia surpasses even Fury’s, Tony.”

“That’s why I know more than him.”

There’s bite to Tony’s words and Bucky wonders about the history there, wonders about this Fury person, and how just the mention of him has managed to get Steve’s expression to darken ominously. Tony turns directing his gaze over to Bucky, smiling wide with his teeth – “So, terminator, you ready for this?” – pulling a holograph of the arm over the table from the air with his fingers.

Bucky shrugs, trying for nonchalance.

“Yeah.”

He’s not. Cradling the arm to his side, feeling the pull in his shoulder, the low-level pain that’s always there. Maybe Dr. Cho senses some of his disquiet; she gets up from her perch and starts to direct everyone.

“Captain Rogers, please take a seat here. We need to keep the work area clear of any additional bodies.”

Steve looks like he’s going to argue, but Dr. Cho gives him a sharp look, and surprisingly he quietens and takes a seat. Bucky wants to ask how she does that so well. Maybe she could teach him, but before he can ask, she shows Bucky to an area at the back of the lab.

Bright lights, trays of tools and a padded table seem eerily familiar. There’s something heavy and uncomfortable in the pit of his stomach. He doesn’t want to name the feeling. There are several straps hanging from the side of the table and a flat cushioned extension for him to lay the arm on. She doesn’t try to coddle him, which Bucky is grateful for, doesn’t try to direct him to the bed. Just lets him go at his own pace, lets it be his decision.

Bucky knows he’s shaking as he lies down, and tries to ignore it, tries to ignore flat pull in his brain wanting him to check out. Dr. Cho seems to know anyway. She touches his flesh arm gently, drawing him back.

“Did I ever finish telling you about the recipe?”

Bucky shakes his head; he can’t really speak anymore, words caught in his throat. Listening to Tony clanking and puttering around the tools, muttering something under his breath. He can see Steve fidgeting where he sits, looking like he wants to get up.

“No, I didn’t, did I!”

Dr. Cho’s enthusiasm is fake, Bucky can tell, but he appreciates it nonetheless. Tries to smile at her, show that he understands. Her cool fingers run over the top of his hand as she starts to speak.

“Alright, where were we, yes, dunking the cabbage halves in water, right? Did I already say about using more salt closer to the stems? I did, I think.”

She slides a cannula into the back of his right hand as she speaks. Gentle but swift, and Bucky can feel himself relaxing when whatever cocktail she’s cooked up starts to spread up his arm. It’s just an analgesia and a mild sedative, she’d told him before, but he can’t remember the names of the medicines now.

“So after you’ve done all that, let them rest for about two hours. Turn over every 30 minutes or so, to make sure they’re all really well salted. You can also baste them with some of the salty water from the bottom of the pot you have them in.”

Tony’s fingers are prying the plates of the arm open, the hiss and pop as they release. He doesn’t feel anything, he never feels anything, only the ghost pain, the stump of his arm hidden somewhere in the metal. Nausea swirls in his belly and he tries to follow Cho’s voice.

“...while the cabbage is salting you have to make the porridge, and gossip like mad. Or at least that’s what my aunties used to do.”

She smiles, but her eyes are lined with worry. It’s the last thing he sees.

 

 

Bucky comes to with a sudden jolt in his shoulder, like a spark of electricity down his back. Suddenly feeling the material of the bench beneath his left hand, under his elbow and bicep.

Dr. Cho is still talking, her voice even and calm. Tony is on his left side, visible in the periphery of his vision, unusually quiet. He thinks he can feel hands on his forearm. His _left_ forearm.

“…combine the water and sweet rice flour in a small pot. Make sure to mix well and let it cook over medium heat for about ten minutes until it starts to bubble. Add the sugar and cook for one more minute, stirring the mixture well. Then remove from the heat and let it cool completely.”

She notices him watching her, some of the worry sliding off her face, eyes softening a fraction.

“You with me, James?”

He nods, not sure if he can talk yet. He spies Steve still sitting on the side a little way away, looking concerned and confused. His hands knotted together, knuckles white and stark against his dark jeans.

Cho’s hand is gentle over the palm of his right hand, pulling his focus to her. He can still feel the cannula as he flexes his fingers in her grip.

“Alright, just take your time. Once it’s cooled, pour the porridge into a large mixing bowl. Add the minced garlic, ginger, and onion you prepared earlier. You will also need fish sauce, fermented salted shrimp, and hot pepper flakes. Mix everything well until it turns into a thin paste.”

“That sounds good.” Bucky croaks, finally getting his voice to work.

He tries to make a fist, and for the first time in over a year his left arm obeys, a smooth whirr and click of the plates as his fingers close in on themselves.

“Told you! I’m a genius.”

Tony sounds so gleeful, so happy, and Bucky wants to laugh with him, but his mouth isn’t obeying him quite yet. Then Steve’s there, by his head, his big warm hands firm over Bucky’s shoulders. Bucky can smell the distress on him, panicked Alpha pheromones. He can see Tony flinching back.

“Come on Spangles, your boy-toy is totally fine. No need for the overbearing cave-Alpha display.”

Bucky’s not so sure about ‘fine’, but he tries to get up anyway. His left hand pressing into the table, helping Bucky push himself up to sitting before he can even think it. Like it’s instinct, like it’s really his arm. His breath feels tight in his chest, like he can’t quite catch his breath.

Steve’s hovering over him, as if trying to shield him from all sides. It’s nice, almost like Bucky really is his Omega, his mate. Bucky lets himself close his eyes and imagine, breathe in Steve’s protective scent. Lean into the hands still on his shoulders.

Steve pulls him in, in turn, letting Bucky lean into his side. Lets his face press into Steve’s shoulder, guiding his nose and mouth against Steve’s neck, allowing Bucky to scent, fingers pressing gently to the back of Bucky’s hairline. Voice gruff when he speaks; Bucky can feel the vibrations of his throat against his cheek.

“I’m taking him home. Now.”

Tony clicks his tongue, distracted. “I still have to test the…”

“No.”

Once again Steve’s voice allows no argument, and for once Bucky is quietly grateful for it.

“But it’s not calibrated…”

“I said no!”

This time the words are almost spat out, and Tony closes his mouth with a snap, despite looking like he would love to argue the point. Bucky just leans into Steve more, pressing his nose into his scent glands, trying to ease the stress pheromones Steve is pumping into the room like a factory. Dr. Cho circles around them, carefully telegraphing her movements, and takes out Bucky’s cannula, covering the puncture with a plaster.

Steve doesn’t let go of him all the way to the car. Helps Bucky climb to the back seat, steadying him. The arm feels so strange on the ride home. The low hum of the arc reactor in the shoulder. The strange lack of pain. He’d grown so used to it over time, a constant ache in his shoulder, that he only now notices its absence.

Bucky can’t help touching things. The leather of the seats, the hard plastic of the door handle, the denim of his pants, rubbing the fabric between his fingertips, feeling the fibers, almost like with his real hand as he slowly starts feeling more like himself.

Steve’s still holding the brown folder Tony had thrown at him, fingers gripping the spine. He doesn’t let the folder go, not in the car and not when the finally get back to the compound and into the apartment.

Bucky heads straight to the kitchen, looking for something familiar, his mind yearning for the quiet routine of food preparation. He pulls out a block of cheese, butter and the leftover half of the sourdough. The crust of the bread feels strange under his metal fingers, as sensitive as they are now.

“Do you know what this is?”

Steve’s holding a paper out to him over the breakfast bar, his face tight and serious.

It’s a symbol. A crude little thing, a skull and an octopus. Of course, he knows what it is. At first, he’d thought it was a joke, ‘skuloctopus’; they used to laugh about it. Stupid army humor that each unit had.

He doesn’t think it’s a joke. Not anymore.

Then Steve pulls out a list of names from the brown folder he’s now spread open on the counter. Hands it to Bucky. He doesn’t want to take it. Because he knows those names. Each one of them. Remembers a smile, an elegant finger curling hair behind an ear, a crooked toe and a broken tooth. Tiny details that make up a full person. Now they’re all just numbers on a sheet. He is there too, the fifth one down, a name and a number and a rank.

“Is this what all of that was with Tony? You digging into this?”

“Did you know them?”

“Yes.”

How can he explain? How can that one word encompass the experience of the Program? The hope at first, the first taste of freedom on missions, different places, drops and extraction points. The slow realization that none of them would come out of it alive.

None but Bucky. That’s what Steve is saying. That they are all dead.

He’s speaking, looking at Bucky, his eyes so earnest.

“Bucky, I need to know.”

“No. You don’t. They’re all dead now, leave them in peace.”

“But..”

“It won’t change anything.”

“What they did…”

“Is over now. The Program is over. What good will it do to dig everything up again?”

“But we need to know, we need to know what happened to these people. Why it happened…”

“Steve, _please_.”

His voice sounds hoarse, broken, even to his own ears, and Steve quietens. Doesn’t say anything. Bucky can hear the rustling of the papers, but he doesn’t turn to look, focusing on the open fridge, the food there, all the choice he has now. On how his life is different. How he isn’t _there_ anymore.

Maybe there’s something in his voice, in his posture, that makes Steve pull back. That makes him close the folder, makes him pull it off the counter and out of sight.

Bucky breathes, slowly, in and out. Looks at all the choices he has in the fridge, all the things he can do choose to do. He makes a simple soup and grilled cheese for dinner and they eat the meal quietly, Steve making listless conversation about some TV program or another.

In the evening, his room feels dark and cold, the bed empty, his body already used to the steady rise and fall of Steve’s breath under him from the night before, but he forces himself to sleep. To close his eyes.

Blackness beneath his lids.

 

 

He’d lost the arm in the cold. He never even knew the name of the place, just the coordinates. Wondered if the place had a name at all, deep in the Siberian tundra. A secret base and an explosion.

He doesn’t remember the extraction or the flight back to base.

_“Sir, sir, he’s finally stable.”_

_“This really does present an unparalleled opportunity for study.”_

_“You think he would survive the surgery?”_

_“Does it matter?”_

_A noncommittal hum._

That careless hum had become the sound of his nightmares, the sound that preceded the saws, and scalpels so sharp he barely felt them until they were flesh deep, almost in the bone.

He remembers screaming, filled with the scent of his own burning flesh, of urine and fear.

He thinks he screamed, but no sound came out.

Mouth open in rictus.

Like a corpse.

 

 

There’s a different scent now. Something mellow and soft.

_“Shh, Buck, it’s okay.”_

There’s something holding him tight, but it’s warm, not the metal that would cut into his skin, not the ropes that would chafe and leave bruising behind as a memory. He opens his eyes expecting the dark again, but there’s low light coming from the open doorway.

Steve’s in his bed, Bucky’s nose wedged into the hinge of his jaw, slow, gentle fingers rubbing the back of his neck. It’s familiar. Calm, slow like syrup, oozing down his spine, chasing away the cold and the pain.

“Shh, shhh, easy now.”

The low rumble of his voice is soothing, that Alpha timbre that sinks down into Bucky’s bones, eases the tightness in his chest. He tries to apologize, mumbled words against Steve’s chest.

“Shit. Shit, sorry, I woke you…”

“Shh, it’s okay.”

Steve nudges the side of his face with his nose, over Bucky’s ear, guiding Bucky’s face into his neck again. Cautiously, Bucky slides his hands under Steve’s t-shirt, feeling the hot, smooth skin of his back. It feels real under his hands, grounding.

“Sometimes I think back on it and think that it wasn’t so bad.”

He presses the words into Steve’s skin, no louder than an exhale really. Steve must hear him anyway, arms tightening around Bucky’s body, easing him even closer. Encouraged, Bucky continues, speaking secrets into flesh.

“At first it was good. Freedom, you know. Going out on missions, feeling important. Like we were part of something good, making a difference. ‘Shaping history’, that’s what he used to say.”

“He?”

“Pierce.”

It’s easier to talk about it this way, wrapped in strong arms, the safe, comforting smell of Steve all around him. Bucky doesn’t know when he started to think of Steve that way, as comfort, as security, as something close to feeling like _home_.

“Then people started disappearing. Dying. Going missing. And then it was me. My turn.”

His breath catches in his chest, stuttering. Steve’s hands run over his spine, fingers pressing into the vertebra, like he’s counting them. _Three, four, five, six_ , Bucky counts with him.

“The mission went south. I wasn’t even sure that I would make it, and they…”

His left hand curls into a fist inside Steve’s shirt, the quiet hum of the arm now so different from before, from the grind and the pain.

“It was the perfect opportunity for an experimental neural connected prosthetic to be attached to someone. Wouldn’t have mattered if I died.”

Steve doesn’t ask any questions, doesn’t talk beyond a few noises of distress and low growls. He lets Bucky speak, words into that cocoon he’s built from duvets and pillows and blankets. Needing to feel warm.

Bucky isn’t sure when he falls back asleep, the steady beat of Steve’s heart in his ear. He thinks he feels a kiss over his ear, over the top of his head, but maybe it’s just Bucky’s imagination. That guileless hope playing tricks on him.

His sleep is dreamless afterward, deep and restful in ways that it never is.

He wakes up when it’s already light outside. Warm and enveloped against Steve’s body, Bucky’s back molded to his front. Protected. He snuggles back into the warmth of Steve, and suddenly feels the hot, hard length of Steve’s morning erection pressing against his lower back.

Bucky can’t help but smile, pressing into it, a slow grind, and then Steve backs away. Still holding Bucky around the waist, but pulling his hips back. Bucky presses back again, seeking the contact, and Steve retreats again, his fingers curling over Bucky’s belly in warning.

Maybe Steve doesn’t want sex. Maybe he’d just done Bucky a favor in his heat. So he just mumbles “sorry” into the pillow, pulling away dutifully.

Steve’s breath is hot on the skin of his shoulder, even through his t-shirt.

“It’s okay, I just don’t…”

Bucky doesn’t want to hear the words. Not out loud, not have his fears confirmed. Not yet.

“No, I get it. Not in heat.”

“No, that’s not…I don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable.”

Steve’s hands uncurl, petting Bucky’s stomach as if to apologize. This has never occurred to him, that Steve would think that he wouldn’t want to. It’s strange, the idea that he wouldn’t want pleasure, wouldn’t like to be touched kindly, attentively.

“You’re not. I wanted it, but you don’t have to do it, not for me.”

He catches one of Steve’s hands in his own, gently holds his fingers. It feels strangely intimate even after everything they’ve already done.

“And I am sorry about the heat. I don’t mean to keep doing this to you.”

“What?”

The word is almost a grunt and Steve’s arms tighten around him. Bucky tightens his hold over Steve’s hand, reluctant to let him go.

“Putting you in situations where you have to fuck me.”

“You wanted it? I mean the…sex.” Steve sounds surprised, and now Bucky feels awkward when he answers “uh, yeah.” He had thought it had been pretty obvious from the start.

Suddenly Steve is back, flush tightly into Bucky again, his cock is back, pressing into Bucky’s ass, grinding.

“Jesus, Buck.”

Steve’s hands are over his belly, wandering and restless, rucking up Bucky’s shirt. Teasing the trail of hair down from his navel. Bucky shoves his pajamas and underwear to his thighs while Steve pulls his cock out, pressing it eagerly between Bucky’s butt cheeks, both of them suddenly in a hurry to be closer.

He doesn’t get as wet as fast as he would during his heat, but Steve’s fingers are teasing him open, getting him there. He mouths Bucky’s shoulder through his shirt, the back of his neck, nosing Bucky’s hair aside.

Sometimes, for a brief moment, Bucky wonders what it would be like if Steve bit down, took, claimed, but the thought passes quickly. Someone like Steve would never mate someone like Bucky. Not outside of fairytales or trashy romance novels. But Bucky arches his neck anyway, offering it, tempting fate.

Steve rolls him over gently, covering Bucky’s body with his own. He feels warm, safe, blanketed by Steve’s bulk and the soft, soft covers around them. Steve’s cock is finally nudging against the furl of his hole and Bucky tries to relax, angles his hips to guide him in.

Steve just murmurs “easy, sweetheart” into the back of his shoulder, and then Steve’s pressing in, the head breaching him, stretching Bucky open. He’s still not used to it, the feel of someone inside of him. So, so close.

Steve shushes him, gentle, into the back of his neck and Bucky realizes he’s been whining. Steve’s knees nudging the inside of his thighs wider, getting Bucky to spread himself open, letting Steve sink deep inside. Letting Bucky rub his cock and his tight, hard nipples against the cotton of the sheets, slow and easy like syrup down his spine, getting him off.

Steve grunts when he comes, his knot swelling, filling Bucky almost to the point of pain, leaving him panting into the sheets, body trembling, caught and held and trapped all at once.

“I never thought it would be like this.”

His voice is dreamy, spaced-out from his orgasm. Tied with Steve. The sweet, overwhelming ache of Steve’s knot in him. Steve’s rumbling growl making his skin nearly vibrate.

“What?”

“Fucking, knotting.”

“You haven’t…you haven’t done this before.” It changes from a question to a statement mid-sentence.

Bucky had always been careful. Didn’t like how he was just seen as a hole to fuck, a thing for breeding. It was his own little rebellion. With Steve, it had felt different. He’d wanted to, not just because of the contract, but for himself too.

Steve presses his forehead into Bucky’s back, between his shoulder blade, cursing.

“Shit” and then “I’m sorry.”

It’s a sincere apology. Maybe Bucky shouldn’t have said anything. He tries to pull away and it hurts, sharp pain at his hole making him hiss. Steve slides his arms under Bucky’s body, pulling him tight into Steve, trapping him properly now.

“Shh, easy Buck. I’m not mad at you.”

Nosing the back of Bucky’s neck, gentle kisses, and Bucky bows his head, hopeful for more, and Steve nips him with his teeth.

“I didn’t know. I would have been gentler, better.”

Bucky hums, curling his hands over Steve’s wrists still caught under Bucky’s body.

“It was good, Steve. So, so good.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alright, I have now caught up with myself in what I've written, so the time between posting new chapters may get longer, depending how I get on and how much time I have outside of work. 
> 
> Thank you for all the lovely comments and kudos and bookmarks!


	8. the excellency of knowledge

 

Steve sits on the edge of the bed while Cho works. She’s laid out an absorbent hospital pad under him to catch the iodine. She clicks her tongue at him, unimpressed, as she removes the bandages and finds two of his stitches torn. Her eyes soften a fraction when he explains about Bucky and the nightmares following the procedure with the arm, but she still extends his medical leave to four weeks, in what Steve can only assume is some kind of revenge.

After she leaves, Steve pulls on his sweats and hobbles into the kitchen, where Bucky is setting up lunch. The new stitches smart on his leg even with the lidocaine. Bucky has collected a selection of vegetables on the side ready for chopping, and Steve distracts himself with whatever delicious thing is cooking on the hob.

Bucky’s getting better and better with his new arm. Testing the ripeness of the avocado softly with his metal thumb, watching as the skin compresses just so. Tender and focused, trying to re-learn those neural links. He’s still cautious, gentle with everything, but Steve can see the power in the arm even without Tony outright informing him of the capabilities it has.

Bucky smiles, shy and cautious, when he looks up and sees Steve seated on the counter. He tries to smile back, reassuring and gentle.

“I have four weeks of leave.”

“That’s nice.”

“Yeah. We could, we could do something, if you’d like?”

Bucky shrugs, but he smiles into the pan as he adds the diced peppers.

“That’d be nice.”

They eat in comfortable silence, catching each other’s eyes and smiling, soft, gentle and cautious.

Steve gets used to the rhythm of their lives in the next few days, the comfort of always seeing Bucky around out of the corner of his eye. The weight of his body next to Steve on the couch, in his bed. The soft, shy smile on his lips when Steve compliments his cooking.

Then one morning Bucky isn’t at the apartment when Steve comes back from his physio appointment. After searching every room and calling Bucky’s phone, which goes to voicemail, Steve grits his teeth and calls Darcy, trying not to feel anxious. If they were bonded, this would be so much easier. He would know where Bucky was all the time.

Luckily Darcy picks up almost on the first ring.

“Yo, Spangles.”

Steve fights the urge to growl. Maybe not so lucky after all.

“Stop calling me that.”

“Tony calls you that.”

“That’s because he’s Tony.”

“Aw, you’re no fun!”

Her voice is teasing, but Steve knows Darcy well enough by now to know that she doesn’t do anything by accident.

“Do you know where Bucky is?”

“Yup, went to the gym with Thor, I think.”

“With Thor?!”

“Yeah, yeah, you’d better hurry, Spangles, I hear a lot of grunting and smacking coming from that direction…”

For a moment, Steve stares at the phone open mouthed. Waits for Darcy to say something, anything. When nothing’s forthcoming, he does growl into the speaker.

“You’re such an asshole, Darcy.”

He terminates the call to the sound of her pearly laughter at the other end of the line.

He tries not to hurry, but can’t help himself, speeding up as he gets closer to the gym because, as Darcy had said, there are faint thuds and smacks coming through the double doors which lead onto a balcony overlooking the training mats and the fighting cage.

Steve does indeed find Bucky at the gym with Thor.

Bucky’s pulled his hair into a messy bun at the back of his head. He’s wearing a loose t-shirt, sweatpants and bare feet. They’re locked in a sparring match on the mats, and Steve is ready to intervene, to leap down and protect his Omega, until Bucky flips Thor over his shoulder, using the bigger man’s weight against him. Thor lands on the mat with a heavy thud and starts to laugh as soon as he catches his breath.

“You are a dark horse, Barnes. A dark horse indeed.”

Bucky smiles with teeth and attacks again, not even letting Thor recover his fighting stance.

Thor is strong, but Bucky is fast. Fast and very, very disciplined. He now uses the arm like there’s no difference between it and his flesh-and-bone arm.

Steve knows from the files that Bucky has had extensive combat training, has been on missions with a special ops team, but seeing the proof of it right in front of him is a different thing altogether from reading about it in a dry mission briefing.

There’s nothing in the way that he touches Thor that suggests Bucky views him as a superior. There is no hesitation, no calculated deference in him.

Steve wonders what it would be like to have Bucky touch _him_ like that. Without hesitation and stripped of the assumed submission. What it would be like to let Bucky wrestle him to the mats, let him hold Steve tightly by the scruff of his neck, pressed into the ground while he…but no, it’s not normal for an Alpha to want that.

He’s supposed to want to take and claim, and he does. Wants to sink his teeth into the vulnerable skin of Bucky’s neck and taste blood. Wants to watch the skin scar over and have something that is _his_ for once. He wants to know Bucky in every conceivable way, touch that bright and luminous center of him that even the Program seemingly couldn’t strip from him.

Steve’s so captured by the fight. So entranced by the way Bucky moves, evades capture and laughs, by his own swirling thoughts, that he fails to notice when someone joins him on the balcony.

“He’s good.”

Steve knows that voice, and his back tenses as Fury walks up to stand next to him. Leaning over the railing, crossing his hands, and looking at the men below with an assessing frown.

“I’m not surprised that Pierce picked him.”

Steve turns, still not ready to place any trust in Fury, hissing “what the hell are you talking about?”

Fury just shrugs off Steve’s anger with his usual indifference. Leisurely turning his back to the railing and the fight still going on the mat.

“Come with me.”

He doesn’t wait for Steve, walking through the double doors and letting them swing closed behind him. Steve still hesitates for a moment, looking down at Bucky and Thor, who are now sitting down on the mat while Thor demonstrates a complex set of wrist locks.

Bucky will be fine. Thor is a good guy, he’ll never do anything to harm Bucky. And Steve needs to teach himself the lesson that just won’t get taught. Bucky isn’t _his_ , not really, not in the way that really matters. So he turns on his heel and walks out through the double doors.

Fury’s waiting for him outside one of the conference suits near the foyer, ushering Steve in with a wave of his hand. Laying out a set of files on the table and selecting the top folder. Opening it and laying out the mission reports for Steve to see.

“I have some intel that indicates that Pierce would like to acquire his investment back.”

Steve shakes his head, scanning through the mission reports from the Carolinas and D.C. which Fury laid out in front of him. Leads on Pierce and his organization, which they are now calling Hydra. Photos and classified write-ups of the other Program participants. Steve still isn’t entirely sure why Pierce would be so interested in Bucky.

“But the arm never worked, it was busted until Tony made him a new one.”

“It’s not about the arm. It’s about him.”

“What?”

“What they did to him. What they made him into.”

Fury pulls out a second set of files. These ones are medical, from the Registry and from Cho. Steve feels chilled at how easy it is for both him and Fury to obtain such personal information about an Omega. He’s never questioned the laws, not really. Before, they had just seemed practical. Now he’s holding Bucky’s most private details in his hands.

It’s a lot of graphs and readings that Steve doesn’t really understand. Lists of hormones and blood work results. Fury taps a particular graph, his face twisted into a frown.

“I think that Pierce was successful in his Program. To create combat-ready Omegas. Well, at least one.”

“But why would he want to do that? Why would anyone?”

It’s the one taboo thing in the service, letting Omegas into the line of fire. _It’ll distract the Alphas_ , they say. _They won’t be able to concentrate with Omegas in the units_. Steve’s heard all the arguments, understands them to a degree too. Fury’s looking at him like he’s reading all of this on Steve’s face. Almost as if he’s disappointed.

“Omegas are obedient. Willing to follow orders without question.”

Steve feels himself bristling at that, suddenly questioning his own judgment. Thinking of Clint, and of Darcy and even Bucky.

“Do you really believe that?”

There’s a hint of a smile on Fury’s face then, which Steve is only able to pick out after knowing the man for five years. Maybe a bit of pride too.

“No, not really. But I do believe in combat units.”

Fury pulls another file from the pile on the table, with a classified SHIELD stamp front and center, handing it to Steve. He read through the first few pages, his eyebrows slowly climbing to his hairline.

“You want to put bonded Alpha-Omega units into combat? Are you crazy?”

“No. It works perfectly well when both are willing. The military provides excellent career options. The set-up for this kind of program already exists within the Registry, we just need to adjust the parameters in the search algorithm.”

And suddenly things that he has been seeing, has been hearing, slide into place. The way Natasha always operates in the shadows, how she and Clint work together in missions that no one else is a part of.

“Natasha and Clint…”

That smile flashes over Fury’s face again, brief and fleeting.

“Yes, they’ve been testing a theory for me. It’s not a relationship like a handler and an asset. Not like any relationship I’ve seen before.”

Steve can’t help but imagine Bucky now, in full combat suit, dark war-paint below his eyes and over his cheeks. Sitting in one of the jump seats of the quinjet. Next to Steve. Fighting beside him. It’s a strangely alluring image, inviting as it is frightening. But Fury doesn’t let him linger over his thoughts, taking out another file. This one is thin, only a few sheets of paper.

“I believe that Pierce had a match chosen for Barnes for this particular reason.”

The file has a name, ‘Brock Rumlow,’ spelled in stark block capitals on the front, and Steve opens it, leafing through the pages. He’s surprised to find that Rumlow used to be a SHIELD agent. Commanded a STRIKE team. He had been dismissed after his affiliation with Pierce’s Program came to light.

“He worked for you?”

“Yes. He’s freelance now. Works for the highest bidder.”

There’s so much disdain dripping from every word. Steve raises an eyebrow, but Fury just nods for him to read on, not letting anything further show on his face.

Rumlow is a world-class hand-to-hand combatant, with extensive experience in various martial arts and military combat techniques. He’s older than Steve, has that rugged Alpha look that Steve always finds off-putting. He’s been on missions that have sometimes been adjacent to Steve’s own, and he’s surprised that they’ve never crossed paths.

He’s grateful for that now, grateful that they’ve never met. He can’t help but imagine the other Alpha on Bucky, holding him down, claiming him, using him for whatever Pierce commanded. When Steve turns to the final page of the briefing, he nearly flings the whole folder across the room.

It’s a compatibility list. They’re used by mating agencies and the Registry to match designations to each other. Steve had had a full list of his best matches mapped for him in the Registry portal, which he had wilfully ignored. Ignored in order to find Bucky.

Between Bucky and Rumlow, the compatibility score is 73%. It’s high. Really high. They would have been the perfect bonded pair. The kind of match where they would have almost been able to read each other’s thoughts.

“Why do the medical experimentation then? If they already had a match.”

He’s proud when his voice doesn’t shake. That’s he’s able to keep his professional calm, no matter how much he wants to rip the file to shreds, will it out of existence.

“Make them stronger, faster, bigger. Can you imagine an Omega who can fight like an Alpha, endure the same bodily stressors, but who lacks the aggression and is obedient and controllable? Not to mention the breeding potential.”

Steve wants to scream. Or vomit. Or pummel Fury and Pierce and Rumlow and anyone who has ever even touched a hair on Bucky’s head.

“This is crazy. The Joint Chiefs would never allow Omegas in combat. Especially ones marked for breeding.”

Fury smiles without humor, bleak and suddenly tired. It looks strange on him, the weariness showing his age.

“You’d be surprised what the Joint Chiefs and the Council will agree to in the name of national security, Rogers.”

He takes the files from Steve’s unresisting fingers, still with that tight, bleak smile.

“Not to get bogged down in the legalities, but you forget that bonded Omegas would always be considered the property of their Alpha. If their Alpha were to be an operative, if they were to command their Omega to serve…”

“Jesus.”

“Barnes is valuable to a lot of people now. He was flying under the radar until he signed up with the Registry, now we don’t know how much Pierce knows. Agent Romanov is looking into it.”

Steve leans on the table, suddenly bone tired. His leg is aching from the stitches, from standing up for so long.

“So what’s your plan then?”

Fury gives him a long, considering look, like Steve is stupid. It takes him a moment before the realization hits, and he does feel idiotic for not seeing it before, all the hints that Fury’s been dropping throughout their whole conversation.

“You want him to join SHIELD. You want him to be a part of a bonded pair. Jesus, Fury.”

Fury just shrugs, starting to collect the files, sliding the papers into order and slotting them into their respective folders. Shrugs like it’s nothing. Like breaking protocol and procedure, breaking the law, is nothing.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves yet. For now, we just need to keep him here. No more trips to New York or even outings out of the grounds.”

Steve feels the growl building in his chest, at the back of his throat. Defensive on Bucky’s behalf.

“So he’s a prisoner now?”

“No, Rogers, he’s your companion Omega, he’s here to do what you tell him to.”

Steve just glowers at him in response, angry and resentful of the perceived order, the words he’s biting back feeling bitter in his mouth. And it seems that Fury’s trust in him is as flimsy as Steve’s is in Fury.

“Do not let him leave the compound. That’s an order, Rogers.”

With that, Fury picks up his coat and leaves the room, leaving Steve standing alone by the conference table the files piled in a neat little stack. Left there for him.

 

 

He doesn’t tell Bucky about his meeting with Fury. Doesn’t tell him about the files or the tests, or about Rumlow. He knows he should, knows he should be honest and open if he has any chance at retaining Bucky’s friendship, retaining that fragile relationship they are building.

He’s training with Natasha in the gym. Well, training is a loose term. Holding the pads for her, holding her bag as she goes through her combinations. Anything to get out of the apartment and away from Bucky’s shy smile and hopeful eyes.

She’s in the middle of a complex set of punches and kicks when he just blurts it out. He’s been thinking about it, about her and Clint and the things they never talk about. How Clint has his own gear and weapons locker and a callsign. How they are breaking every single rule in the book.

“What’s it like, working with Clint in the field?”

Natasha stops, looks at him and hums noncommittally. It’s a diversion tactic. Steve knows to stay away, but this time he isn’t going to heed her silent warning. He wants to know, wants to push.

“You know what I’m talking about, you know what Fury wants to do.”

Natasha starts to slowly unwrap her hands, her motions almost leisurely. Not looking at Steve.

“I do, but that doesn’t mean I’ll talk about it.”

“Natasha, please.”

She looks at him for a long, still moment, her eyes narrowed and considering. Weighing him in a way that has always been unsettling. Then she seems to come to a decision, nodding more to herself.

“Okay, fine. Fury wants to take your boy out into the field. Maybe wants you to work with him. What’s the problem?”

“He’s not an operative!”

Natasha gives him a look like he’s really stupid, rolling up her hand wraps into little rolls and throwing them into her bag.

“Steve. Seriously. Did you not actually read those files I gave you? That Fury gave you?”

He had. He really had, but it had been easier to think of that person as someone else. Not Bucky, who makes the best lasagna and smiles just a tiny bit when he finds a perfectly ripe avocado in the fruit bowl in the kitchen. Not Bucky who snuffles and snores a little bit in his sleep, the Bucky whose breath hitches so prettily when Steve presses his fingers inside him, curves them, grazing his prostate just a little.

“Earth to Steve. Stop thinking about sex.”

“I’m not!”

Nat gives him a look like she knows he’s lying, and Steve feels himself flushing under her gaze.

“Okay, so you read the files. You know as well as I do that he’d be perfect for the team.”

Steve wants to squawk in outrage. Bucky’s not ready for the team. Nowhere near ready, and he says so:

“He wasn’t trained by SHIELD.”

Natasha has the gall to actually laugh at him.

“Neither were you. Or me.”

She’s not wrong, but it’s still different. It’s _Bucky_.

“He doesn’t know the team.”

“He’ll get to know them, that’s the point of joining a team.”

“He could get hurt.”

She laughs at him again, exasperated and almost kind.

“And there we go, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“What?”

“That’s what it’s like to work with Clint in the field. That exact feeling you have now. All the time.”

Steve gapes at her, his mouth trying to form words, but nothing comes out. Natasha continues as if he isn’t even there, as if it’s a sentiment she’s thought about for a long time.

“But I have to trust him to know what he’s doing, that he’s there because he wants to be there. That we’re a team. I trust him and he trusts me.”

She looks straight at him, frank and not hiding for the first time, letting him see her fear. It’s humbling.

“If you can’t have that then it’s not going to work.”

Steve still doesn’t believe her. Doesn’t believe that she can just put someone she loves in danger. To stand beside him while they’re being shot at and not crumble.

“And it’s just that easy?”

“Easy? Shit, no Rogers. It’s fucking hard, everything worth having is.”

She zips up her gym bag, effectively ending the conversation.

Steve moves around the gym aimlessly for another twenty minutes, trying to not dwell on the conversation. Eventually, he goes back to his apartment and has a shower, then boots up his computer, checking his emails and aimlessly poking around some of the new mission reports uploaded to the archive.

It’s been nagging at him ever since the conversation with Fury. Ever since he saw Rumlow’s file, and now Natasha said that Fury was thinking of pairing Bucky with him. He likes it and hates it, the thought of Bucky by his side, of Bucky in danger. Sinking his teeth into tender skin and making Bucky _his_.

He has to know for sure. So he logs back into the Registry’s portal. Finds his own profile details and inputs Bucky’s registration number into the compare match field, it’s easy enough. Watching as the Registry’s logo swirls while the algorithm loads up.

When the page finally loads, he looks at the number. 28%. It’s low, he knows that. For a decent match, you would expect at least above 40%. There’s something heavy and sharp in the pit of his stomach. Something so achingly familiar.

_Did you ever think that someone would want you, runt?_

He closes the window and turns the computer off for the day.

It’ll be easier this way.

Bucky isn’t a match for him, the pull he feels is just loneliness. Just because Steve had to go and fall for the first Omega that was put in his path. It’s not Bucky’s fault, he shouldn’t be penalized for it.

He needs Steve now, to keep him safe and to make sure that he has a future, even if that future is with someone other than Steve. He can do that.

Bucky’s pulling a set of potato skins from the oven when Steve comes into the kitchen.

“Tony and Pepper invited us to a baseball game. They have a box! Can you believe that! I’ve never even been to Yankee stadium.”

Bucky sounds so excited, giddy even, he’s smiling wide and excited. Flipping the chicken thighs sizzling in the pan with practiced ease, then moving to drop the hot potato skins onto a plate with his metal hand. Steve lowers himself to sit at the counter, feeling awkward and gormless.

“I think maybe we should just stay in this weekend.”

Bucky looks back at him questioningly, before returning his focus to the chicken in the pan.

“You don’t want to go? I mean, I can always ask Darcy if she can arrange for me to get there. Yankee Stadium, jeez.”

Steve clears his throat, tries to make his words sound authoritative.

“I would prefer it if you stayed here this weekend.”

Bucky flips the chicken again, looking up.

“But what about…”

“I said no, Bucky!”

Bucky stands there, shocked, mouth open, his left hand still curled around the handle of the pan.

“I said no and that’s final.”

Steve gets up from the counter. Walks to his room, closing the door behind him. Leaning against the wood, working through the pain. He can still pretend that it’s just his ribs bothering him. Pressing in, making it hard to breathe.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The next chapter may take me a bit longer to post, so thank you for bearing with me. I've had to take a bit of a break from writing this for Real Life reasons. 
> 
> Thank you for all the comments and kudos, it really makes me want to write for you guys.


	9. heart is snares and nets

 

He feels the itching, that warm syrupy sensation sliding down his spine as soon as he wakes up. For a few minutes, Bucky lets himself sink back into the pillows, easing his hand into his pants and giving his cock a few hard tugs. Sliding his thumb around the tip, working inside the foreskin.

Yeah, heat. Just fucking great. He can’t wait for Dr. Cho to get his suppressants sorted out.

It’s the last week of Steve’s medical leave, and they’ve barely left the apartment, let alone the compound, the whole time. Some days Bucky feels like they’re back in those first few weeks all over again. Steve’s awkward and quiet, avoiding looking him in the eye.

With a lack of anything else to do, they’ve ended up watching four series of the _Gilmore Girls_ , which Bucky thinks Steve secretly loves. He’s managed to sneak away to spar with Thor during Steve’s physio sessions without getting caught, which he’s taking as a personal victory.

With a huff, he scrambles for his phone on the night stand and pulls up Steve’s contact details.

**< In heat again. Giving you the heads up.  >**

He’s hopeful, shimmying his pants off. Lifting his head up from the pillows and listening for Steve’s door, his measured steps down the hall, the creak of his own door.

But none of these sounds materialize. Instead, his phone pings with a message.

**< Ok. Thank you for letting me know. I’ll get out of your hair.  >**

He hears the creak of Steve’s door, and footsteps down the hall going the opposite direction and the apartment door closing with a click. Bucky buries his face back into the pillows and growls in frustration, when another text pings on his phone.

**< I’ll text to check you’re okay later. Please answer.  >**

He is so not okay. He wants to scream. Wants to call Steve back, but it’s not his place to make those kinds of demands. If Steve doesn’t want his heat anymore, Bucky has to accept that. He’s here purely at Steve’s pleasure, after all.

Eventually, Bucky crawls dejectedly out of bed and into the shower. He jerks off, fingering himself, just to get the edge off, then parks himself on the couch under several blankets and with most of the food from the fridge laid out on the coffee table. Loading up a queue of trashy reality shows on the massive TV.

It’s not that he even really likes the show, but there’s something inherently satisfying in watching a group of squabbling Alphas trying to woo a stunning but insipid Omega on _The Bachelor_.

Bucky shouts at the TV in between stuffing himself with ice cream and the left-over mashed potatoes. On the TV, three Alphas start a fight near the pool and the camera crews obviously make the most of the resulting wet t-shirts all around.

He makes it all the way to the hometown dates episode, but eventually, the food and TV aren’t enough to distract him from the cramps and shivers that come with an unsatisfied heat. He’s horny and grumpy and sore, and it doesn’t look like Steve’s coming back anytime soon.

His phone is dark and silent on the table, and Bucky pokes it miserably, willing it to ring.

It’s complete torture, especially after his last two heats, when he’s had Alpha contact. He knows now the relief of a full knot, the way Steve’s hands feel on his overheated skin. How comforting it is to lie with someone, just to have the physical closeness, the assurance of an Alpha’s scent all around him.

Shrugging off the blanket and turning off the TV, Bucky wanders down the hall, following his nose and the luring scent of Steve that hangs everywhere in the apartment, but it’s strongest near his bedroom door. In his hurry, Steve clearly hadn’t even locked up, the door remaining slightly ajar. Bucky can’t help himself, pushing the door fully open and going in.

He’ll stay just a little while, just to take the edge off. That’s what he tells himself.

The room itself already smells amazing to Bucky, but as soon as he crawls into Steve’s unmade bed, the cramping in his lower back eases almost instantly. He buries his face into the rucked-up pillows and pulls the duvet tight around his body, creating a little cocoon of Steve’s scent. If he closes his eyes, he can almost imagine that Steve is just out of sight, just getting him a bottle of Gatorade or a chocolate bar. That he’ll be right there, crawling into bed with him, pressing his body into the curve of Bucky’s sore back.

He falls asleep with the thought of Steve pressing inside him, just holding him there, still and full. Calling him _sweetheart_ like he really means it.

He doesn’t hear his phone pinging on the coffee table in the living room.

 

 

He wakes up to a frantic yell of “Bucky! Where the hell are you? Bucky!” and then Steve is bursting through the door just as Bucky is lifting his head for the pillows with a confused “Wha?”

Steve smells angry, distressed and Bucky whimpers almost on instinct, pressing his face back into the pillows. Curling into Steve’s bed, hiding among the pillows and blankets, still disoriented from sleep. He feels Steve’s hand over his head, gentle pressure over his neck and down his shoulder.

“Hey, hey, Buck. It’s okay, you didn’t pick up your phone. Just scared me is all.”

Bucky shoves his hands under the pillow, holding his own wrist, resisting the urge to pull Steve into the bed with him. He’s caught between wanting to hide from Steve’s anger and pulling the Alpha into the sheets and burying his face into Steve’s neck. But he’s being good, not taking what he needs, what he wants. Not being selfish.

The acrid scent of Steve’s distress slowly fades as he pets Bucky’s hair, cooing and trying to lure him out from under the pillows.

“Hey, it’s okay, I’m not mad. It’s okay, Buck. You can come out.”

As Bucky slowly lifts his head from under the mound of pillows, he catches a new scent in the air between them. He can now recognize Steve’s rising rut. Bucky whines, arching and showing off the back of his neck to the Alpha, and hears Steve’s answering growl, which he cuts off suddenly, pulling his hands away.

“I don’t want to use you, Buck.”

_Like last time_ hangs unsaid in the air between them. Fearful at Steve pulling away, Bucky finally fully crawls out from beneath the sheets and pillows and duvets. Reaching for Steve, pressing his face into Steve’s neck and shoulder. Holding him in place, and taking what he needs, what he wants.

“You’re not, Steve.”

Steve lets out a grunt, as if to refute the statement, but Bucky won’t let him get the words out, pressing closer still. Angling his body so that there is no space between them.

“Let me, let me be with you. Please.”

He can feel Steve wavering, smell the desire loud and clear in his pheromones. Feels his own scent mingling with Steve’s, as Steve’s hands come cautiously to lay on Bucky’s hips, fingers pressing right where Bucky’s sorest on his lower back. Steve’s whole body shivering at Bucky’s sharp inhale. Steve’s murmuring into the side of his neck, words barely audible.

“I don’t want to hurt you…”

Bucky just shakes his head stubbornly, face still hidden in Steve’s shoulder in return.

“You’re not. It’s good. It feels good. With you.”

“Bucky…”

Steve breathes the word out like a blessing, like a question, like he’s giving a piece of himself away. Sliding his hand up and down Bucky’s back, rucking up the cotton wet from sweat. Easing his fingers under the waistband of Bucky’s pants, down the cleft of his ass. Fingers pressing down where he’s wet and open and tender.

“Fuck. Bucky. You’re so ready for me. So wet.”

Bucky wants to moan, letting out a breathless “yeah.” Spreading his legs open, canting back against those questing fingers, moaning as the tips press inside. Stretching the tender rim of his hole. It’s not enough, nowhere near enough of what he needs.

Steve rubs against Bucky’s neck, the scruff of the stubble he’s always so diligent in shaving scratching Bucky’s scent glands, making them ache. Then he’s straightening up and removing his fingers from Bucky’s pants.

“Come on.”

He pulls Bucky from the comfort of the bed even when he whines grumpily. He doesn’t want to leave the bed. He wants Steve to come into the bed with him. Preferably sans all his clothes. Instead, Steve hustles him into the private bathroom off the bedroom with a smile.

It’s even more luxurious than Bucky’s. The walk-in shower takes up most of the back wall, built like a cave with colored stone walls and floor. Bucky rubs his eyes, sensitive to the bright lights Steve turned on as they walked in. He prods Bucky into the center of the room, shedding his own sweater and pulling his t-shirt over his head.

He pushes and manhandles Bucky out of his clothes and under the warm spray of the shower, growling a little, almost like he doesn’t even realize he’s making that low possessive sound. It settles into Bucky’s belly, warm and present, making him bow his head, curl his toes into the stone floor. Making him obey Steve’s hands as they move and push him with ease.

The water is hot and Bucky sighs as Steve dims the lights and then finally joins him, pressing his body against Bucky’s back, arms going around his waist. This is what he’s been craving, needing all day. Contact. Warm hands running over his skin, the gentle puff of air at the back of his neck as Steve inhales his scent, licking over the sore, engorged glands under his ear.

Steve takes his time, washing him with a strange sort of reverence that Bucky doesn’t really feel like he deserves. It makes him jittery and off balance. Fidgeting within Steve’s hold. Suddenly Bucky inhales, sharply, caught off guard by the gentle touch of Steve’s lips on his skin. His breath frozen just from the way Steve kisses the scars on his shoulder, the uneven lumps of skin littered all over his back and the side of his left hip from old shrapnel wounds.

They don’t kiss. It’s never been part of the things they do for one another. This feels different, like a crossed line. Breaching the silent agreement they have both been holding. Bucky has no frame of reference for this, for the sudden intimacy that Steve doesn’t even seem to realize he’s creating between them.

Once Steve finally seems satisfied, with rivulets of soap suds running down Bucky’s body and into the drain, Steve pushes him to brace against the wall, hands firm on Bucky’s back. Guiding him to stand the way Steve wants him. Bucky’s never wanted this before. To be taken, owned, commanded. Not in the way Steve makes him feel. It’s a strange dissonance wanting to obey, wanting to please.

Steve’s running his palms down Bucky’s spine, pressing his fingers into the cramped muscles of his shoulders and sides, into his lower back. Up and down his spine, fingers smooth under the water. Flowing over Bucky’s skin like there’s nothing between them, no skin and muscle and bone separating him from Steve.

Finally, finally, Steve gets his hands between Bucky’s legs, running his wide, hot palms up the inside of Bucky’s thighs, thumbs pressing into the muscles there, up, up, inch by torturous inch.

Then he’s spreading Bucky’s asscheeks apart, thumbs running up the cleft, rubbing over where he needs it the most, but not pushing in. Bucky tries to cant his hips, seeking contact, but Steve just tuts at him, pressing his thumbs into the muscle connecting his thighs to his buttocks, massaging the skin there.

Bucky knows, he’s whining, pleading for his Alpha to take him, but Steve just keeps shushing him, rubbing over his tender, swollen hole with patience and reverence, and with so much care that Bucky wants to scream. Despite the mounting frustration, Bucky feels himself opening under Steve’s hands, the way his body responds to the teasing. Steve hums in response, pleased. Bucky can hear the smile in that low sound.

Afterward, Steve dries them with huge, fluffy towels, capturing Bucky’s wandering hands as he tries to reach for Steve’s cock, hard and leaking against his belly.

“Oh, no, no, no, I still have things to do with you.”

There’s a dangerous glint in Steve’s eyes, a mischief that makes Bucky swallow nervously as Steve ushers him back into the bedroom.

Bucky ends up arranged leaning against the wall over the headboard of the bed. His head buried in his forearms, legs spread obscenely wide. Steve’s lying between his legs, licking at his hole, sucking bruising kisses over his perineum. Fingers spreading his ass wide for Steve’s tongue. Bucky’s gasping, sobbing into his arms. He’s so hard, dripping wet at his cunt and on the tip of his dick. He needs to come so, so badly.

“Steve. Steve. Please.”

He just hums into Bucky’s flesh. Smiling. The bastard.

“Just a bit more.”

He slides his fingertip over the lax rim of Bucky’s anus, teasing, pressing in with just the tip. Pulling on the rim, spreading Bucky open, his hole gaping a little by now.

When Steve finally presses a finger all the way in and up to the third knuckle, Bucky sobs.

“Please.”

“That’s it. Good boy.”

And that lights up a fire in his spine like nothing else. The praise, the ownership implied there, the way Steve would take care of his _good boy_. Bucky comes at that thought, crying and moaning and clenching around that single finger in his ass. He’s sobbing, breathing uneven against the wall as Steve eases himself out from between his legs.

Then he growls out a single word.

“Present.”

Bucky knows what it means for an Alpha to ask for that. What is means to an Omega to give them that much power, that kind of submission, and he does want to; wants to give it to Steve. So he scrambles away from the wall and onto his shaking hands and knees, pressing his chest into the covers. Spreading his legs, knees anchored in the blankets.

Steve’s hands are like a hot brand over his hips when he finally spreads Bucky’s cheeks apart. Watching him, they way Steve must be seeing Bucky’s hole contracting, needy and wanton. Bucky can feel himself flushing, burying his face into the sheets in embarrassment.

Steve just hums, rubbing his fingers over his premium, pressing with his thumbs.

“That’s it, sweetheart. So good for me.”

He can feel Steve shifting, the press of his knees inside Bucky’s legs as he positions himself. Then Steve’s rubbing his cock down the valley of his ass, covering himself in Bucky’s slick. Teasing his hole, pressing the fat tip of his cock against where Bucky needs it and then retreating, heedless of Bucky’s whines and complaints.

Finally, finally Steve pushes, easing the thick head of his dick inside Bucky’s tight, contracting channel, and Bucky nearly sobs with the relief of it. Finally having a thick Alpha cock filling him, something to clench against. And then he’s getting fucked. Deep, hard strokes and he cries out with each one, the sound barely muffled into the mattress. Steve’s got one hand on his hip and another on his shoulder, pressing him down into the bed, making him take it.

“Fuck, Bucky. Fuck, you’re so tight. Taking me so good. So wet for me.”

He’s left hand is clenched in the sheets and Bucky can hear it clicking and whirring, overwhelmed. Bucky can sympathize. His body feels tight, on edge now for hours, and he’s moaning Steve’s name as the Alpha fucks him, pulling almost out on every thrust, letting the tip pull against Bucky’s tender rim.

He can feel the knot starting to swell, the slight edge of pain as Steve forces it in on each hard thrust, growling into Bucky’s neck, leaning over him. He presses his forearm over Bucky’s shoulder, forcing him more firmly into the bed as he works the knot in and starts to grind against Bucky’s ass, not pulling out anymore.

Hot come is suddenly filling up Bucky’s channel as the knot expands, pulling on his rim right to the edge of pain. From the corner of his eye, Bucky can see Steve biting down on the skin of his own arm still pressing into Bucky’s shoulders, growling as he holds on. Steve’s eyes are closed, almost like he’s in pain.

Steve comes for what feels like an age, shuddering and jerking his hips. Then he slowly lets go, sliding his arms around Bucky’s waist, pulling them tighter together, pressing the knot deeper where Bucky can feel it against his prostate. The motion makes him twitch and whine within Steve’s hold.

He licks the back of Bucky’s neck, calming, rubbing over his belly and taking Bucky’s leaking cock into his hand. Thumb working over the head and pulling the foreskin back.

“Come on, sweetheart.”

It’s the teeth nipping a the back of Bucky’s neck that finally do it. Letting him imagine Steve biting down. Growling _mine_ into Bucky’s skin, into the marrow of his bones. He wails as he comes, hole contracting relentlessly around the knot filling him as he shoots into Steve’s fist and all over the sheets.

They collapse on the bed, tied together in a heap, exhausted and sweaty. Steve’s body pressing him into the bed feels like safety, like home.

It goes on like that for hours. Fucking and fingering and Steve eating his ass like a champion until Bucky’s crying.

Bucky doesn’t even know how long it’s been. Steve’s just rocking into him now, languid, his knot swollen inside Bucky’s hot channel. They’re both tired, but their bodies aren’t letting them sleep, not yet. Steve’s rumbling into his neck, words and bits of phrases that mean nothing.

He’s been sucking long, sore kisses into Bucky’s shoulders. He’ll have bruises, marks from this, and he’s pleased with that, at carrying Steve’s marks at least for a little while. Those signs of ownership he’s avoided for so long.

“I need you here. I need you to stay. Please, Buck. Just stay.”

Bucky breathes in those words, lets himself imagine them as something else than just talk during sex, than just the rut talking.

 

 

Steve sneaks out of bed the next morning and into the shower before Bucky’s even fully awake. He finally rouses to the sound of the shower, body sore and well used. He lets himself stretch, enjoy the feel of Steve’s sheets against his skin, rolling in their mingled scents for a little bit longer. Before Steve gets out of the bathroom, he crawls out from under the covers and goes to his own bathroom to shower.

It’s better to get out of Steve’s hair now that the heat’s over.

In the afternoon, when Steve leaves for Manhattan for his first meeting after the medical leave, Bucky tries to just make lunch for himself. Bread, cheese, all those carbohydrates he always craves after a heat. He’d eat more of that mashed potato if there was any left.

He feels restless, a niggle in his mind, something that won’t let him settle. The pattern of Steve’s refusals to leave the apartment. The excuses to keep Bucky here, and they are excuses, even Bucky can see them for what they are. Lies and obfuscation.

He waits for two hours after Steve leaves the compound, making sure that he definitely isn’t coming back. Sitting in front of the TV watching the final episodes of _The Bachelor_. The Omega is trying to choose between a jacked-up firefighter or a powerful city lawyer.

He leaves the TV on in the background when he gets up. Steve must be in the City by now. Far away from Bucky and what he’s about to do.

It’s easy enough to get the lock open on Steve’s office door. Easy enough to check for any additional security, of which there is none. It doesn’t take him that long, five minutes of looking through drawers and the built-in bookcase. One of the files has his name, another one says ‘HYDRA’ in dark, block capitals, and one reads ‘Brock Rumlow’.

Slowly, Bucky opens each one and begins to read.

 


	10. the end of all men

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please see the updated tags, and proceed with caution.

 

The call comes suddenly, like these types of calls always do. Steve’s in the middle of reading through the latest mission briefings from Guatemala and eating a cheese sandwich that Bucky had made before leaving for his appointment.

The screen on his phone flashes with ‘code black’, which means just him and Natasha. He flips the phone open and dials a secure connection to the SHIELD servers, downloading the briefing pack. His hand freezes over the screen as soon as he sees the operational details, halfway to pulling his combat suit and kevlar out of the storage box set up in his closet.

It’s Rumlow.

A mercenary team has broken into a chemical factory near Maryland. Unfortunately, this one isn’t just a regular factory for the agriculture industry; that’s just a cover. It’s partly a government-funded research site for chemical weapons. The worst part is that Fury wants Rumlow brought in for questioning. Wants him alive. There’s enough evidence now to implicate that he’s still heavily involved with Pierce and this strange Hydra organization, and Fury wants to interrogate him.

From reading his file, Steve isn’t sure if even Fury’s team will be able to get much out of him under duress. Not even at the black site.

He’s halfway into his gear when Bucky comes back from his post-heat check-up with Cho. Part of Steve hopes that the doctor will finally be able to set Bucky up with the correct dosage of suppressants, and another part, a selfish part of him, wants Bucky to never be on suppressants again. To be able to come home sometimes to that sweet surprise of Bucky wanton and needy for him. He hates himself for these thoughts, knows how selfish they are.

He’s strapping on the kevlar, still feeling a twinge over his ribs while he tightens the straps, when Bucky suddenly appears at his partly open door. He’s got a determined look on his face, lips pressed tight together like he’s preparing for a fight.

“I want to go to Manhattan.”

Steve pulls the final strap into place with more violence than is strictly necessary. He doesn't have time for this. Not now. Not when he has to go out there to try and bring Rumlow in alive and relatively unharmed. When all he wants to do is to tear the man limb from limb.

He doesn’t look at Bucky when he answers, trying to catalog what he needs to pick up from the weapons locker before heading to the hangar. Pulling on his leather gloves. Avoiding the eye contact Bucky is seeking.

“It has to wait till I’m back.”

Then he pushes past Bucky and heads down the hall and into the living room, ignoring Bucky’s outraged shout of “Steve!”

His voice is angry, and Steve realizes that this is the first time that Bucky’s raised his voice then entire time they’ve been living together. All these months, and this is the first time that Steve’s heard this particular timbre of anger from him. He knows he should stay, should explain, but he doesn’t have time. Not right now.

“This is important Buck. We’ll talk about it when I get back, I promise, just stay put till I’m back, okay?”

Bucky follows him down the hall and into the living room, face like a storm cloud.

“Steve, just wait a minute…”

Steve doesn’t stop, shoving the apartment door closed, his belly twisting at the final dark look Bucky throws his way through the narrow gap before the door slams shut. He tries to push away that feeling he’s still resolutely unwilling to name, get his head back in the game as he makes his way through the apartment complex and into mission control.

Natasha meets him at the weapons lockers, sorting through her gear and the extra ammo. It’s easier then, in her presence, to push away all those feelings, to compartmentalize. Or at least it used to be.

There’s direct access to the hangar from the weapons store through an underground passage. The jet the crew has readied for them is a new model, courtesy of Stark Industries. They both stow their weapons and survival gear into their assigned lockers, and Natasha runs the jet through its pre-flight sequence. Halfway through, there’s some kind of blip, with an alarm that Natasha cuts off with a frustrated huff and a hard smack of her hand over the control panel.

“I’ve been meaning to get Tony to check the seals, they’ve been playing up.”

She doesn’t seem too worried about it, and Steve just leans into the seat, trying to get his thoughts in order, and away from Bucky, as Natasha finally lifts the jet off and away. After just a few minutes, the compound is a speck of dust in the far distance as Steve looks back through the curved windows of the cockpit.

On the way to Maryland, his fingers itch to pull out his phone, to load up the conversation thread he has open with Bucky. To explain, to apologize. To say _something_ , but his fingers remain frozen, caught in the straps of his kevlar vest. He reads through the last messages. About Bucky’s heat, the silent plea in those words, and no matter how hard he tries, Steve can’t make himself respond. He couldn't then and he can’t now.

Instead, he reviews the latest intel, downloading what he can to his handheld and into the wrist pad. SHIELD isn’t sure yet what Rumlow’s after at the plant: it’s likely to be some kind of biological agent, but it could also be a kidnapping. The facility houses several world-class scientists. People Hydra might need if they’re to re-start their Program somewhere away from U.S. soil.

When they finally land, the sun is setting and the whole factory and laboratory complex is in near darkness. The streetlights around the area, and even on the nearby highway, seem to be turned off. The mercs must have cut the the direct feed from the main power grid. It’s clearly a large-scale operation, well planned and executed, and Steve suddenly feels uneasy, like they’ve come completely unprepared. That SHIELD’s sent them here willy nilly, without doing any of the due diligence needed for countering an attack of this level on a government facility.

“We should call back-up.”

Natasha looks at the lights and the sight of the darkened plant, nodding slowly.

“I’ll put in a call to Clint. Off the books.”

Steve hums. It won’t help them right now, but at least if anything goes wrong, help will be on the way faster. He sees the tight look on her face as she types her message into the handheld. Thinks of the level of trust required to send a fellow agent this kind of request off the books. To know in your bones that they would never betray that trust. To put your career, your integrity in someone else’s hands like that.

Finally, after a tense few moments and the ping of Clint’s reply, they both load their weapons and emergency beacons from the lockers. Natasha leaves the jet powered down but in lockdown, just in case anyone else comes across it.

With the power at the facility fully off, the emergency lights low to the ground irritate both Steve and Natasha’s vision as they make their way in through the blown-up side entrance. Rumlow’s team have clearly come this way. The slumped-over bodies on the ground indicate as much. It’s clear that they weren’t interested in stealth or low body count once they actually broke through the outer security setup of the plant.

The halls smell stale and dusty from the concrete particles floating in the air dislodged by the firefight. The security team at the plant had clearly put up a decent fight, but it hadn’t been enough. Nowhere near enough.

One of the doors is so covered in blood splatter that Steve can’t really tell its original color. They step over the slumped-over bodies, the way they’ve fallen on and over each other as if to protect, following the destruction meted out by Rumlow’s team down long, dim corridors. Their harsh breathing and cautious footsteps loud in the still air. The static of their earpieces a low hum in Steve’s ear.

After almost ten minutes of searching, they come across three rear guards milling around the entrance to the underground laboratory, deep inside the complex. The air is stale and heavily filtered, and Steve finds himself counting his breaths, a stress reaction he’s never really been able to completely train himself out of.

Natasha makes the first kill shot. The leftmost merc falls to the ground like a sack of potatoes, half of his skull splattered on the wall. Steve takes out the second one with a direct hit to the groin as the men turn, bursting open the femoral artery. The man makes a gurgling shout as he falls to the ground. Blood looking almost black on his pants and on the slate-grey floor. The metallic scent of it is thick in the air.

The third man gets out two shots from his semi-automatic before Natasha shoots him in the chest and abdomen. He hits the wall with a heavy thud, disoriented and unable to breathe from the pressure his kevlar must be putting on his lungs now. Steve remembers the feeling, and finishes him off with a clean head shot as they move closer.

They search the bodies for identification or any kind of affiliation markers, but find nothing. The gear is high quality, military grade, and they have to assume it’s a privately backed paramilitary organization. Steve types a quick encrypted message back to SHIELD on his wrist pad.

The only member of the merc group Fury wants alive is Rumlow, which Steve is grateful for as they walk past the bodies. This will be hard enough as it is without trying to kill him. Suddenly, there’s a glimpse of something bright and sharp in the corner of his eye, but as soon as he spins around on the balls of his feet, gun clocked to target, it’s gone.

“Did you see that?”

“What?”

Natasha is still holding formation towards the main corridor, but Steve can see her body leaning towards him, ready to turn when needed, to provide support fire.

“Something down that hallway.”

“You wanna take a look?”

She’s moving to cover his back, but Steve looks down at the monitor strapped to his wrist again and shakes his head. The time is ticking down.

“No time. The main group has breached the lab. If we’re to have any chance of catching Rumlow before they get to the lab, we have to move now.”

Natasha shrugs and moves around the corner to clear the next portion of the main hallway with her usual fluid grace. Steve gives the side hall one final look, feeling like something is off, some instinct deep in his belly telling him to go down there, to follow that bright flash. Instead, he shakes his head and follows Natasha, still clearly off his game.

They both reload and check their secondary clips before entering through the emergency access doors into the laboratory levels. Both tensing slightly from the sounds of the firefight going on in the lower levels, audible even through the heavy fire doors.

No one seems to notice their entrance when they finally make it to the lowest levels, the team of mercenaries solely focused on a group of scientists crouched down in a dome-like structure in the middle of the laboratory, which appears to be bulletproof. Rumlow’s team is working to get the doors open. Steve notes at least a few lots of C4 wired into the structure, but it doesn’t look like they’re ready to set it to blow yet: all the wire triggers are still missing. Maybe they were aiming to take the scientists alive.

Then one of the scientists looks their way and gives the game away. So much for a stealth attack.

Both he and Natasha manage to take out four and three mercenaries respectively before the team has them pinned. They end up crouched behind some kind of huge metal contraption, the bullets making hollow clanging sounds as they hit the outside shell of the unit.

Steve feels his frustration mounting at the Mexican stand-off, tapping off a few shots here and there, wary of wasting too much ammo needlessly, while Natasha furiously types on her wrist pad. She hands him her spare clip without looking up and Steve reloads with a speed born of hundreds of missions with her. The near-on silent communication between them.

When he takes a quick look at the mercenary group again, Steve notices a commotion behind the main batch of soldiers by the dome, notices orders being shouted, and the silhouette of a large Alpha making his way to the back emergency stairs across the wide-open space of the laboratory.

He doesn’t know if it’s just the time he’s spent with the folder or some kind of ingrained response from his hind brain recognising competition, but Steve knows for certain that the retreating silhouette is Rumlow. He’s holding a metal case, strapping it to his wrist as he moves. This seems to greatly upset the scientists inside the dome, as they begin to shout and yell.

One of the scientists rushes to the barricaded door of the pod, trying to open it while the others try to stop him. This distracts the mercenaries enough for Steve to take out another two, before they turn back to him and Natasha, firing a volley of shots.

Rumlow is at the other end of the floor already, making his way up a set of access stairs to an upper level of the laboratory. Steve freezes when his eyes catch something bright and sharp at the other end of the access ramp on the far side of the wide space. There’s something familiar about it, and it’s with dawning horror that he recognizes the person standing there.

It’s Bucky.

He’s dressed in combat pants and boots with a SHIELD-issue kevlar vest over the henley he was wearing earlier in the day, showing off his new arm. The metal glinting under the heavy, bright lights of the laboratory.

Steve can’t even begin to piece together in his head how Bucky is here, and Bucky doesn’t give Steve any time to think, to form a plan. He’s doggedly going after Rumlow, running and leaping over the access ramps to get to the side door Rumlow is racing towards.

Steve doesn’t even shout for Natasha to cover him, just takes off after Bucky. He can hear and feel the bullets ricocheting around him. It’s a miracle that nothing hits. Or if they do, he doesn’t feel it.

He yells Bucky’s name, but the Omega doesn’t stop, doesn’t even slow down. Steve curses himself for not taking the time to make sure that someone was watching Bucky while he was away. Making sure that he couldn’t leave the compound under any circumstances. He should have understood that the dark look on Bucky’s face had spelled trouble.

Bucky chases Rumlow and Steve chases Bucky through labyrinthine corridors connecting the underground laboratory with the outside world. Steve assumes that they’ve gone up at least four levels in their chase, eventually ending up in some kind of loading bay with containers hanging from the ceiling. Lifts and pulleys and cranes. The system rigged to move the large containers around for transport and storage.

There’s a narrow bridge across the vast distance, a set of interlocking walkways. Rumlow runs across, and as soon as he reaches the other side, he snaps open a console that starts to retract the bridge. Bucky reaches the disappearing walkway first, but the distance is too long for a jump.

Steve screams Bucky’s name as Bucky moves further down and climbs to stand on the railing. Yells as Bucky jumps on top of one of the pulley mechanisms hanging in the air, slipping as he lands on the uneven surface but managing to hold on. Then he pulls some kind of control panel from the top and starts to maneuver across the distance. Towards the other side. Towards Rumlow.

For the first time since Steve gave chase, Rumlow stops, looking back at them. Looking Bucky up and down, maybe noticing his less-than-regulation combat outfit, noticing the gray henley he’s still wearing, crouched on top of the moving pulley, his gaze now solely focused on Rumlow.

Steve can see Rumlow’s nostrils working, scenting the air. He knows what Rumlow is smelling. The now-muted scent of Bucky, the tendrils of post-heat pheromones that still linger even days afterward, mellowed like fine wine. He wants to cross the chasm between them and rip Rumlow limb from limb.

Then Rumlow smiles at Bucky. It’s sharp and knowing.

“I know you. You’re Pierce’s project.”

Bucky nods, watching Rumlow with a calm and even expression. He’s still holding the control for the pulley in his metal hand, standing in between them, a wide chasm of space on either side. Steve leans over the railing, trying to reach for Bucky, trying to scent something familiar and calm even amidst his own panic.

“Bucky, please. Just come back, come back to me.”

He’s begging, he knows that, knows that Rumlow can hear it in his voice and in his words. Hopes that Bucky can hear it too, can understand the desperation clawing at him, hopes that Bucky feels even a fraction of the same need that has been plaguing him. Just a fraction, enough to make him turn around.

Emboldened, Rumlow swaggers to the edge of the walkway he’s standing on, the closest he can get to Bucky, who’s still in the air between them, and Steve can’t help but growl across the distance, his panic turning into anger. It just makes Rumlow’s smile widen.

“Yeah, think of all the things you have to go back for with him.” Rumlow taunts. “Locked in your room like a naughty child.”

He’s leaning on the railing now, leaning towards Bucky, a mirror image of Steve on the other side. Steve could take the shot. Take it with Bucky hanging seventy feet in the air between them, unprotected, and Rumlow’s hand resting on his sidearm in a clear show of threat.

“I’m offering you a purpose. Pierce is offering you a purpose.”

Bucky doesn’t say anything, just stares at Rumlow, unmoving and quietly scenting the air. Steve holds his breath. Rumlow’s words are soft, almost gentle now. He isn’t taking his eyes off Bucky, off his prize. It makes Steve’s stomach heave, the possessive lust so clear now on Rumlow’s face.

“You can come back. You can stop being a two-bit whore for a government drone, get back in the game, Barnes.”

And then Bucky presses down on the control buttons and the crane starts to move. Move towards Rumlow.

“Bucky! Fuck! Bucky, please don’t do this! I’m so sorry, please, Buck!”

Bucky doesn’t look back. Not when Steve screams his name, not when the pulley docks on the other side, near where Rumlow is standing. Not when Rumlow smiles, slow and nasty. When he reaches out, helping Bucky jump off the crane.

Steve hangs onto the railing long after Bucky and Rumlow have disappeared up the stairs and out of the complex. After he hears the chopper take off. Until Natasha finds him, drags him away. Drags him back into the jet.

He sits in the back of the plane the whole way back. Staring at his hands. There’s soot and dirt on them. His hands that just a day ago were touching Bucky, holding him. Keeping him safe.

And he’d failed.

How could he have let this happen? How could he have been so terrible that Bucky chose Rumlow? That Bucky would rather return to the Program, to Pierce, than stay with Steve?

But Rumlow was right: Bucky’s been nothing but a whore, and Steve’s treated him as such. Kept him prisoner in the compound on Fury’s orders, no matter how much he could see that Bucky wanted to go out, experience the world now that he had the means.

He doesn’t move even when they land, not until Natasha comes to him, touches his shoulder, carefully, gently. Her scent is muted, calming him in the way only she knows.

“Steve. We _will_ get him back.”

“No.”

There’s venom in the word, so much hatred that it seems to even throw Natasha’s ever-calm and collected exterior. She pulls her hand away from him.

“What?”

“No. I don’t deserve him back. This is all my fault. I did this.”

He looks at her then, willing her to understand. She just shakes her head, her face a mixture of anger and resignation.

“Steve, no. You didn’t. Hydra and Pierce did this, and we’ll get him back. I promise you that none of us, not me or Clint or Thor or Tony, will rest until he’s safe, okay?”

He nods, dazed. He wants to believe her. Wants to believe the lie.

“Yeah. Okay.”

But he knows that it’s a lie. Knows that in the end he really only has one choice. He’ll let Bucky go. When they have him back, Steve will let him go. Demand that the Registry give him his full pay and a place at any university program he desires. Bucky deserves the freedom to choose, to not be put in a situation where he has to pick Rumlow in order to gain his freedom.

Steve’s had his rut. Fury will be satisfied. Bucky will have his freedom. And everything will go back to normal.

Everything but the yawning chasm in his heart where Bucky should be. It snuck up on him like a thief in the night, took his heart, squirreled it away before Steve even noticed he’d lost it. Lost it to someone who doesn’t want him, can’t want him.

He knows he deserves this, deserves the pain for all the things he’s done.

Everyone is there in the ready room, waiting, already suited-up in the combat gear when he and Natasha walk in. Thor, Clint, Wanda. Tony’s face hovering on the screen from his lab in New York. Darcy fidgeting by the coffee cart. Dr. Cho sitting near the head of the table, tapping away on her tablet. When she notices Steve, she stands up, approaching as he slumps down onto one of the chairs.

“Where’s James?”

He tries to get the words out, force them past his teeth, make them real. Forcing himself to admit his own guilt. He deserves their scorn, deserves for them to know and hate him for it.

“Hydra’s got him. Rumlow…Rumlow took him.”

Her whole body seems to freeze, her face a tight mask that Steve can’t read. Natasha stiffens by his side, maybe reading something from Cho’s posture that Steve can’t. The doctor turns to the others, nodding towards the door.

“In that case, I need to speak with Captain Rogers. In private. Please give us the room.”

Everyone shuffles out with surprising speed and Dr. Cho turns off the screen, where Tony is still giving Steve a hard look. She sits next to him, careful in her movements.

“Did you and Bucky use any barrier protection during his last heat?”

Steve runs his hands over his sweaty, sooty hair, trying to think. The memories of Bucky's heat aching in his belly like a fresh gut shot.

“Uh… no. Is there a problem?”

Cho looks at him, her eyes wide and frightened for the first time.

“In a word, yes. He’s pregnant.”


	11. your spirit to be angry

 

The small chopper that Rumlow guides him to is a new model, clearly built for stealth. Black and shiny, the rotary blades gleaming in the air. There are no military or country insignias on its sleek bodywork. Bucky assumes it’s meant for a shorter trip. Calculates distances in his head like the vectors through a scope of his old Colt M4A1.

Rumlow hands him a set of ear protectors and takes the chopper up with practiced ease. They land after only 15 minutes of flight time and swap the chopper for a small stealth jet waiting for them at a private airfield in the middle of the countryside.

Rumlow’s hand feels hot over Bucky’s back as he guides him down from the chopper. He fights the urge to shrug it off. There’s an acrid smell around Rumlow, like something burnt, and it makes Bucky’s nose twitch.

“We did try and get to you earlier, but you were just snug as a bug in a rug in that compound. Locked up in there like it was Fort Knox.”

He’s smiling at Bucky, like he’s glad. Watching him with proprietary eyes. It’s not the first time he’s been inspected this way, treated like something to be owned, possessed like a thing. The way Rumlow’s chuckling under his breath like he thinks he’s being funny.

“We got intel on you in New York with Rogers and tracked you back there. Smart going to the Registry in the first place. Their databases are so easy to hack into, even a baby could do it.”

Rumlow doesn’t seem to require any kind of answer from him, so Bucky just shrugs again, keeps quiet. It seems to please the Alpha, from the way he looks at Bucky constantly from the corner of his eyes, his nostrils flaring, scenting the air.

“We weren’t expecting you to come to us, but maybe we should have.”

Rumlow winks and Bucky tries to smile, short and quick. He’d been surprised how easy it had been. Not just leaving the compound, but sneaking into the jet after Steve and Natasha. He’d triggered some pressure seals and thought he was totally busted for a while, but for some reason both of them had ignored the alert and carried on with the mission.

The quinjet had had so many nooks and crannies to hide in that once Bucky had gotten inside, it had been fairly straightforward to slide into a closet with the stolen combat gear and get changed. The scent dampener he’d snatched from Cho’s office had kept any of his post-heat pheromones from getting too far into the belly of the plane and tipping off the others to his presence.

He’d been unarmed going in, which hadn’t been ideal, but once at the plant, it had been easy enough to pick up a handgun or two from the dead bodies littering the corridors. The extra earpiece he’d found on the jet had helped him to keep track of Steve and Natasha through the maze of the plant. Avoiding them until the last possible moment.

Bucky’s jolted out of his thoughts when they land on a barren airstrip not far from a group of buildings. They’re built into an octagon, windows facing inwards like a panopticon.

The walk isn’t long. Rumlow keeps a proprietary hand on him all the time, over his back, or on his elbow, all the way to an unmarked side entrance. He opens the door with an iris scan and a swipe pass to get into the building, and logs into a computer console right inside the doorway to register their access.

“Man, I can’t wait to tell Pierce. He’s going to be pleased.”

They start making their way through the maze of corridors. Bucky counts the turnings and doors they’ve passed in his mind, building a map, a record of where he’s come.

After they reach the second set of security-controlled doors, which Rumlow unlocks with another iris scan, Bucky's pulled to a room off to the side instead of taking him down the main corridor. It’s some kind of containment area, filled with boxes and stacks of chairs. The air smells musty and stale, like no-one’s been there in days.

“No cameras here, sweet cheeks.”

There’s that glint in Rumlow’s eye that Bucky’s seen before. Knows what it means. Back in high school, all those years ago, he’d once knelt in the footwell of a car with the fingers of the Alpha jock of the football team tight in his hair. Pulling. Bucky still remembers the ghost of that particular pain. He can feel himself smiling now the way he never did then, an uneven pull of his lips, anticipation curling in his belly.

“That’s good.”

“Yeah, it’s real good. Just relax for me now.”

Rumlow leans into Bucky’s space, hands on his hips, pressing in closer to catch Bucky’s scent, lips parted, breath sour between them.

Rumlow hasn’t disarmed him; maybe he thought that he didn’t need to. Such a severe tactical mistake from someone so experienced, on top of taking Bucky into an unmonitored room. Not that he would really need the gun still secured to his belt, not anymore. He can hear the arm calibrating for combat, the low hiss of the plates as they move. Feel it in his bones and nerves, impulses passed into his muscles. Stark really wasn’t lying.

It’s surprisingly easy, in the way the arm obeys as Bucky wraps the metal fingers around Rumlow’s throat. As he squeezes. His body has once again grown used to the motions of close-quarter combat from the afternoons spent with Thor, and Rumlow is much lighter than the blond Alpha. Rumlow tenses up just a fraction too late to stop Bucky from shifting his weight and hurling the other man to the floor in a sweeping arc.

There’s an audible crunch as Rumlow’s neck and spine slam to the floor, a slight widening of his eyes in shock, until the nerve endings from C2 and C3 vertebrae cut off and Rumlow stops breathing.

Slowly Bucky uncurls his fingers, looking at the dark bruising on the Alpha’s throat.

Then he pulls the ID card from Rumlow’s trouser pocket and takes his SIG-Sauer P226 Tactical and the Glock 19 strapped into the thigh holster. Then, on second thought, he unclips the holsters and straps them to himself as well.

He doesn’t look back as he locks the door behind him and gets to work.

It feels calm, purposeful, somehow strangely familiar, plowing through a base, killing anyone coming his way. The soft squish of flesh and snap of bones, the bright flash of blood against the pale linoleum floors. The arm whirrs and clicks, the plates moving with him, to protect him when someone shoots at him, and Bucky uses it to deflect the bullets.

He has a vague idea of where he’s going, gleaned from the computer console Rumlow logged in to as they arrived. Somewhere in the centre of the facility is an office. An office and its occupant, and Bucky’s ultimate goal. He swipes Rumlow’s access pass – which is still working – on a computer console and pulls up up a comprehensive layout of the base, memorizes the corridors and access hatches, and shoots two guards in quick succession as they round the corner towards him.

It’s easy after that, with a target in sight.

He’s four floors up and nearly at the central office complex when the earpiece suddenly roars into life with “Holy shit Cap, your boy-toy is a fucking menace!”

Bucky startles at Tony’s voice, at the glee with which he’s speaking, his customary smirk audible in his tone. Bucky can hear footfalls, guards rushing down towards him, the click of their weapons, their nervous, jittery Alpha scents pungent in the air. He smiles, slipping the safety off the SIG.

There’s a crash and the sound of a plywood door hitting the wall, and then Thor is by his side, swinging his ham-sized fist into the first Hydra guard’s face, sending the man tumbling back.

“Friend Barnes!”

Wanda slides past them both, slick and fast like lightning, sinking her blades into a guard’s back as she goes past the first wave with graceful ease.

It’s surprisingly easy, comfortable, to fight with a team. Having Thor at his back, to fall back into those easy motions they’d almost perfected on the training mats. Seeing Wanda in front of them, smiling wolfishly with her teeth white under the fluorescent lights of the hallway. They are like him, built for this, made into weapons, all enjoying it. It’s freeing in a way that he’d forgotten, had made himself forget. To embrace this part of himself.

He catches Thor’s eye, the joyous determination on his face, and responds with a smile of his own, genuine this time, trying to show his gratefulness. Then Natasha swings into view behind the guard formation, hanging down from an access hatch in the ceiling, her Glock 19’s already extended in both hands. Her voice crackles into Bucky’s ear.

“This is like Budapest all over again!”

“You and I remember Budapest very differently.”

This voice is flat, deadpan. Bucky assumes it’s the elusive Clint, which is confirmed when Natasha laughs, throaty and sweet through the headset. It makes Bucky smile a little, even while his fist connects with a Hydra guard’s solar plexus.

He catches a few glimpses of Steve too, tries to catch his eye, but he never comes closer, never fights to get to Bucky’s side the way Thor has. Bucky tries to not let it hurt; he knew this would be the price of his actions, of his blatant disobedience. He swallows down his distress, instead turning to Thor, letting the bigger man launch him across the room at a group of security guards.

He extends the arm out to offer Wanda support when she leans over the head of a huge Alpha standing at the back of fray. She turns to look at him, her knives sunk deep inside the Hydra thug’s jugular, and then she flicks her head towards the stairs at the end of the hall, the free route that they’ve been able to clear out for him.

“Go!”

Bucky nods at her and takes off running. He can hear gunfire and the grunt of someone taking Thor’s fist into an unguarded stomach, but he doesn't stop, doesn’t look back. He still hears Steve’s voice, but he knows it’s just in his head. Steve’s not calling for him now, not looking at him. Not anymore.

He makes it to Pierce’s office only to find it empty. Stands there, frozen for a second, then another, until Tony’s voice comes through the earpiece again.

“He’s on the way to the chopper on the roof, terminator. Go get the bad guy so we can all go home.”

Bucky gives a salute, not sure if Tony can see him, but it feels right, the motion of it.

“Tony, what’s going on?”

Steve’s voice is so cold, but Bucky doesn’t let himself dwell on it, pressing forward. _Finish the mission. Get it done_. Ignoring Tony’s chatter in his ear.

“Barnes is going for Pierce. He’s in the building. I mean clearly that’s why Barnes came here, it’s so obvious, Spangles, really.”

He wants to respond, to explain, to make Steve understand, but it’s too late.

_Just finish the mission, soldier._

It ends on the helipad. Just him and Pierce and Rumlow’s SIG-Sauer P226 Tactical.

Pierce crumples on the ground, mouth open as if to say something, his hands still clutching his phone. He seems so small now, curled in on himself in a gray suit. Just the body of an old man. The blood slowly seeping into the gray concrete of the platform. Looking down at him makes some of the static in Bucky’s head quieten, just a little bit.

He hears cautious footsteps, closes his eyes. Hopes and wants. He knows it’s futile and desperate, knows it long before he even turns around. _If wishes were horses beggars would ride_ , like his ma used to say.

Thor is standing on the edge of the helipad, strands of hair pulled loose from his ponytail, streaks of blood over his cheek and the front of his kevlar. He looks at Bucky likes he knows; knows that it wasn’t him Bucky was hoping for, was waiting to see. Bucky closes his eyes so as not to see the soft pity there.

On the way out of the complex, Natasha corners him in one of the endless corridors, barges past Thor and squints at Bucky, her eyes just narrow slits. She is much shorter than he is, but for some reason Natasha makes him feel like she’s the one looking down on him.

“It was you in the quinjet, right? That blip in the sealing process.”

He shrugs, awkward and a little bit embarrassed about having taken advantage of them all this way.

“Maybe, yeah.”

“You got lucky, that’s all I’m gonna say.” She smiles at him then, brilliant and real, “and you gotta show me how you did that.”

Bucky nods, dazed by her praise and by Thor’s joyous laughter by his side. They way he clasps his hand over Bucky’s shoulder, shakes him as he laughs.

“A dark horse, Barnes, I tell you!“

When they make it out of the maze of corridors and into the parking lot, the whole area is suddenly crawling with SHIELD personnel. Thor stays by his side all the way to the quinjet, which is parked not far from the parking lot on a nearby field, talking through the fight with Bucky like a normal debrief. Boisterous and excitable.

Part of him is expecting to be cuffed, but Thor just guides him into one of the jump seats in the back. Sitting and chatting with him all the way through the flight back to the compound. Thor keeps up the constant chatter, asking Bucky about his favorite TV shows, his new recipes, inane chatter that means nothing.

Bucky tries to catch Steve’s scent, catch his eye a few times, but Steve stays back, as far away from Bucky as he can in the small space of the jet, and it’s not until that moment that Bucky understands that he’d been waiting for this, wanting, waiting for Steve’s comforting presence and his scent.

He hadn’t let himself look at Steve at the plant, had closed himself off to those desperate shouts of his name. The begging so clear in his voice.

Finally, Bucky allows himself to feel the hurt of the rejection so clear in Steve’s distance, but he can’t make himself regret his actions. Not now, not with the easing of the weight he’s been carrying around for over a year. He did the right thing. Getting rid of Pierce, Rumlow, the Program, Hydra, all of it. Making sure that they can no longer hurt anyone else.

If the price he has to pay is the loss of Steve’s friendship, the loss of that tentative relationship, then Bucky is ready for it. He will learn to accept it.

He leans back in his seat, closes his eyes and lets Thor’s chatter wash over him like static.

 

 

When they finally land at the compound, Thor takes him into a conference room and hands him a bottle of water.

“Wait here. Fury wants to debrief you.”

Bucky cracks open the water and drinks, long and slow, not looking as Thor disappears through the doors, leaving him alone.

He waits, maybe ten minutes, maybe longer, but eventually the door opens and an older Alpha with an eye patch and a sour expression comes in. He’s accompanied by a younger female Alpha with a steely expression and a folder.

They take their seats and the eye patch leans towards him, hands folded on the table.

“Good afternoon, I’m Director Fury, and this is Agent Hill.”

Bucky doesn’t answer, flicking his eyes between them. When the silence stretches on for too long, Fury speaks again.

“That was some serious covert work there, Barnes.”

Bucky just shrugs, and finally settles for saying “it wasn’t that difficult,” which is the truth. It hadn’t been, not when everyone at the compound trusted him.

Fury makes him recount the whole mission, from getting out of Steve’s apartment, stealing the scent dampener and sneaking into the jet. Describe how he found Rumlow and left with him. His voice doesn’t waver when he speaks, not even when he talks about Steve chasing him, talks about how he screamed across the distance between them, doesn’t let them see how much it hurts.

Fury taps his fingers on the table slowly, doesn’t interrupt Bucky once. There’s a strange slant to his expression, a calculating intelligence that Bucky finds unnerving. Once Bucky’s finished, Fury just nods, not even looking at his companion.

“Thank you for your honesty. We’ll be in touch if anything further is needed. Dr. Cho will want to debrief you as well, so please go and see her as soon as you can.”

Just as they get up to leave, Hill turns to him. She hasn’t spoken at all, and Bucky is surprised to find her voice melodious and clear.

“Just one more thing. How did you resist him?”

“Ma’am?”

She’s leaning on the table, her body angled towards him, like his answer really matters.

“With that high of a compatibility score, how did you manage to resist him, the pull he would have had on you?”

Bucky smiles then, but it’s tinged with bitterness.

“The scores. You used the information from the Registry, from my enlistment, right?”

Hill nods, and Fury watches on, face passive, but Bucky can see interest in his eyes, like it’s all a test somehow.

“Well, I wasn’t being entirely truthful in those interviews.”

“You lied?!”

“Yes. Why wouldn’t I have?”

She doesn’t seem to have anything to say to that. And Bucky doesn’t have the heart to tell her that a lot of that shit about Omegas not being able to control themselves when around a compatible Alpha is just romantic garbage anyways.

He sits alone in the room for a while. Finishes the bottle of water still on the table, not thinking of much of anything. He has to move eventually, and he doesn’t want to make Dr. Cho worry more than she already must be.

She jumps up from her desk when Bucky knocks, opening the door of her office to him. She looks worried, more harried than Bucky has seen her before.

“James, oh my god, please do come in! You’re not injured, are you?”

“No. I’m okay. Nothing broken.”

He tries to smile at her, tries to again show his gratitude to all these people looking out for him, looking after him even when he hasn’t done anything to deserve it. When he’s done everything to earn their scorn.

She smiles at him and motions for him to sit, but there’s something tight and worried around her eyes. She’s looking at him like he’s breakable. She never used to look at him like that, even the first time, not even when they fixed his arm, and he wants her to stop, needs her not to look at him like that.

“James, there’s something else I must discuss with you.”

She pauses, the air between them heavy and charged all of a sudden. Bucky’s mind is blank, thoughts racing to figure out the answer.

“You’re pregnant.”

And he just nods at her, feeling strangely calm and numb all of a sudden. It makes a terrible sort of sense. He should have guessed it, really. He’s not on suppressants, Steve clearly hadn’t taken anything last time, and it’s not like they’d used condoms.

It’s only been a couple of days since the heat. The thought in itself feels surreal. He doesn’t feel any different, but knows that it’s normal. Knows that the tests exist to detect even the earliest smidgen of hormones. In the past decade, with the new breeding licensing laws, the pharmaceutical industries have developed more and more sophisticated methods of pregnancy detection. Just so that the government can control breeding.

There’s a small rebellious part of Bucky which is glad, happy that he’s done this outside of licenses, outside of the law. Something that’s solely his. His hand has crept over his belly, fingers splayed open, protective.

Cho is looking at him cautiously, her face and scent carefully neutral.

“You are very, very early in your pregnancy. Do you want to continue with it?”

He does. It feels strangely shocking, to want it. He hadn’t expected to feel this way, ever. Never expected himself to want it. He looks down at his own flesh hand resting over his belly. He’d pushed the idea of breeding out his mind early on, knowing that no Alpha would ever pick him, especially after the Program, and he’d made his peace with it.

Now…now it feels different. He feels different. Safe. Powerful. His world suddenly filled with choices. But Bucky knows it’s only an illusion. Really, he has no choices here either. Ultimately, what happens will not be up to him. But he wants to, he wants to choose, wants to be able to make those decisions for him and his, to give the finger to the world and say ‘this is my baby’.

He doesn’t look at Cho, keeping his eyes firmly on the abstract painting hanging behind her. It looks kind of like a flower, like a strange sunset. Reds and purples and yellows.

He thinks about Steve inside of him, whispering _I need you here. I need you to stay. Please, Buck. Just stay_ , screaming Bucky’s name, begging him not to go. He thinks about the tiny cluster of cells inside of him, the amalgamation of him and Steve, the essence of both of them. Growing, changing each moment he sits there, breathing.

“Uh, what does Steve want?”

“I'm not talking to Captain Rogers, I'm talking to you. What do you want to do?”

There’s a sharp inflection in her tone, disapproval and maybe panic.

“I want to know what Steve wants.”

His fingers press against his belly, pushing the hard line of the kevlar vest into his flesh. Cho clicks her tongue: her lips are twisted, unhappy.

“Is this because you need his license? Because you know that’s the only way?”

Bucky nods. Maybe it’s cowardly of him to want to force Steve into this situation. As if Bucky hasn’t hurt him enough, hasn’t asked enough of him. But he hopes, hopes for something better. Hopes that they way Steve has been looking at him when he thinks Bucky isn’t looking will sway him.

_I need you here. I need you to stay. Please, Buck. Just stay._

Single Omegas can't really parent, not unless they’re extremely wealthy and have a strong family backing. The fines are just too high otherwise. The discrimination the child would face is often insurmountable enough to dissuade anyone from going ahead with an unlicenced pregnancy.

Dr. Cho sighs, almost like she can hear his thoughts. Maybe she can read them on his face clearly enough.

“You do understand that as soon as I invite Captain Rogers into this conversation, the options I can give you are limited?”

He knows that. Cho is offering him an out if he wants it. But Bucky doesn’t want an out. He would keep the baby if he could, would build a life for himself and his little family. Steve is his only hope for that.

“Yes.”

“And you still want him here?”

Bucky just nods, still avoiding her searching gaze.

“He should choose.”

When he finally comes in, after Dr. Cho calls him, Steve looks bone tired, more so than after he’d been shot and injured. His shoulders drooping even more as Dr. Cho talks to him, explains the situation. Explains how Bucky has requested his presence, asked for him to choose, as is his right.

Steve doesn’t look at him, eyes resolutely fixed on the corner of the room.

“I'll do whatever you want, Bucky.”

He sounds defeated, rubbing his hands up and down his face, still dressed in his combat gear, covered in dust and blood. Bucky huffs, part annoyed, part scared. Wanting to make Steve look at him.

“I'm not allowed to keep it.”

Steve seems surprised by this admission, almost as if he’d never thought about it, the laws and the regulations.

“Would you like to? Keep it?”

He sounds taken aback, some emotion cracking his voice, but he still won’t look at Bucky.

“Yes, I would. But I can't. You know that.”

Steve just shakes his head even before Bucky’s finished speaking.

“Bucky…”

“You could. You could keep it. You have a breeding license, right?”

Steve nods, slowly. Of course, he does, Alpha like Steve. The government would be more than happy to give him a license or two.

“I do, yes.”

Ultimately, it’s the Alpha’s decision whether to terminate or to keep. Once pregnant, Omegas have very few rights to make decisions. If there’s an accidental pregnancy, an Alpha can petition to use their license.

“And you really want this?”

Steve finally looks at him, but his eyes are guarded, face tight, not letting anything show. Bucky just nods emphatically, fingers clenching and unclenching over his belly. The kevlar is harsh on the skin of his fingertips.

Steve rubs the back of his neck, nodding, turning towards Dr. Cho on his seat.

“Alright. If you want to carry on with the pregnancy, I will use my license for you. Cho, can you set up the authorization paperwork?”

She nods. “Once the paperwork has been processed, I’ll get the James the license card.” Turning to her tablet and starting to flip through a set of pages. She looks between them both.

“The pregnancy is in very early stages, and miscarriages at this point are fairly common. So, James, if you feel anything off, please come and see me straight away.”

She’s looking at him, and Bucky does understand. She’s offering him an out yet again, even with the risk to her medical license to practice. He feels so privileged, surrounded by all these people who would help him, selfish in having driven them all to do so.

Steve doesn’t look at him as they walk out of the room. The silence is stilted and tense between them. Bucky is unsure of his own welcome, but he has nowhere else to go, so he follows Steve home. Looking at the wide expanse of his back, the hunched shoulders, defeat etched into every plane and valley of his body.

He did this. To Steve, who had welcomed Bucky, provided for him, looked after him, given him a home. The realization that he now views the apartment as _home_ is strange, when he hasn’t let himself feel settled anywhere in the past five years, hasn’t allowed himself that comfort.

The words stutter out of him before he can even think them, panicked and sharp. Steve’s hand is on the door of the apartment.

“Can I…can I still stay here? At least until the baby is born?”

He turns, bewildered, hurt lining the tiredness in his eyes.

“What? Bucky, of course!”

“Oh, okay. Okay, that’s good.”

Steve walks down the hall and into his room closing the door behind him with a quiet snap, and Bucky doesn’t see him for a week.

 


	12. by the sadness of the countenance

 

He stays away for a week. It’s easy enough, meetings holding him up in D.C or New York City. It’s just more convenient to take a hotel room than to drive up to the compound in the dark, even when he’s in NYC. To bury his face in the bland scents of the hotel sheets, with their industrial washing powers and scent dampeners that feature in every room.

It’s easier.

Easier for him, when all he wants to do is to lock Bucky up in his room and keep a tight perimeter around the Omega at all times, but Bucky has made it very clear that he wants nothing of the sort from Steve. Proven that he’s more than capable of defending himself, taking care of himself. So, there’s nothing left for Steve, no purpose to serve anymore.

So this…this is easier for everyone.

When he finally gets back to compound a week later, Bucky isn’t even there. Darcy testily informs him that Bucky is in New York with Tony and Pepper for a few days. “Box seats at a Giants game. Recalibrations on the arm. That sort of thing.” Then she gives him a look like he’s a dirty sock, turning on her heel and marching away. He doesn’t reprimand her for her lip even when he could. He feels kind of like a dirty sock at the moment.

The apartment still smells of Bucky, that’s not unusual even if he’s been away for a while, but there’s something different now, something’s changed in his scent since Steve left. He has to fight the urge to get into his car and drive back down to New York and forcibly drag Bucky home. He huffs and growls at himself, annoyed, and goes to his office to bury himself in more SHIELD reports.

There’s enough work to go around now after the fallout from The Program. Coulson has been investigating how it was possible for Rumlow to gain access to confidential information about Bucky from the registry. It’s past midnight when he finally stops and goes to sleep.

Bucky comes home the day after, with his small duffle bag and a new-looking Giants cap. He smiles shyly at Steve from the doorway.

“Hi.”

But Steve can only nod, can only walk out and close the door of his office. It’s all that he can do to keep himself from rushing forward and inspecting every inch of Bucky’s body, mapping his hands over limbs and flesh and making sure that he’s all there. From pressing his nose and lips and teeth into Bucky’s scent glands and trying to capture that essence of change in him.

Later in the evening, Steve finds a plate of aubergine parmigiana covered with plastic wrap in the fridge with a little post-it note that just says ‘Steve’.

He eats it cold, hungrily, standing up by the open fridge, until his belly feels tight and full. Momentarily sated. And that’s how it goes. Steve avoiding Bucky as much as he can, settling again into the rhythm of his work. Into D.C., then New York, with a few overseas missions in between. Days turn into weeks. The only constant is the plates in the fridge on the days he’s at the apartment, locked in his office. Fat chicken enchiladas, pasta bakes with squash and feta and bacon, spinach cannelloni and creamy mushroom bake.

He knows that Bucky has taken to spending a lot of time with Darcy and Tony. He knows that Bucky goes to New York City frequently, now even has his own car in the garage, a small white SUV that Natasha procured from some random SHIELD warehouse.

The shaky balance of avoidance and politeness boils over one afternoon six weeks after the incident with Rumlow and Pierce. Bucky comes back to the apartment from a meeting with Fury with a preoccupied look and a SHIELD folder. Steve knows that blue folder, knows what it contains: a SHIELD contract and the non-disclosure agreements that agents sign when they first enter the service. It’s the first thing anyone at SHIELD will ever get handed.

Without even thinking about it, he walks out of the hall and into Bucky’s space.

“You can’t join SHIELD.”

He’d been so good. Avoiding confrontation, avoiding Bucky if he’s completely honest with himself. Bucky bristles at Steve’s tone, his fingers gripping the folder tighter.

“I don’t see why not!”

“Because I’m telling you that you can’t!”

Bucky turns to face him head on. Steve can hear the low hiss and click of the plates of his arm.

“I don’t think what I do is any of your fucking business!”

“I’m your Alpha, and it’s damn well my business what you do or don’t do!”

It’s out of his mouth before Steve can stop the words, before he can think of what they mean.

“I can do whatever I want! After the contract’s up, I can do whatever I want.”

Bucky’s looking at him mutinously, like he’s expecting Steve to disagree, to argue, but all the fight’s gone out of Steve. All of his righteous anger suddenly deflated.

“You’re right. I’m sorry. Please let Fury know if there’s any paperwork I need to sign.”

He turns around, missing the crestfallen look on Bucky’s face.

Steve knows that Bucky meets with Hill three days later. He’s in D.C. then, his whole day filled with back-to-back meetings. No time to think about the paperwork Bucky would be filling in, no time to think about SHIELD starting to look for a match for him.

Things get worse after the fight.

_I’m your Alpha._

He’d said it, and Bucky had heard it. The one thing that he’d promised himself never to say, not out loud. The one thing that you must never say to an Omega who is paid to be with you. Whose company is never truly free; it’s never really their choice, after all.

And all the other things still hanging between them unsaid, those words still stuck behind his teeth.

_Please, please let me be that for you._

But no, he doesn’t have the right, and Bucky’s never asked him to, has never wanted him to be anything but what they are to each other now. A transaction. The distance between them suddenly feels further than that crane in the plant had, the bridge pulled up as Bucky left with Rumlow.

Steve’s jolted out of his thoughts by Thor knocking in on the glass door of the conference room, where he’s taken to hiding during the day. His office in the apartment smells too much like Bucky now, making it hard to concentrate on anything.

He waves Thor in, and tries to smile.

“Steven? May I speak with you?”

“Of course, what’s up?”

Thor looks strangely hesitant, his usual exuberance muted.

“Bucky has asked to resume our training sessions, and I am more than happy to spar with him, he is a worthy opponent, but…”

Steve just stares. He knows what he wants to say, but he shouldn’t, so instead he stays silent, letting Thor continue.

“I wanted to make sure that you were comfortable with he and I training together? It is customary to ask.”

Customary to ask an Omega’s Alpha. That’s what Thor means. But Steve isn’t, will never be that to Bucky.

“Yeah. Yes. Of course.”

Steve rubs his face, resolutely not thinking of Thor and Bucky, sweaty on the mats together, all those heady early-pregnancy pheromones Bucky’s pumping out like a factory now.

“Bucky can do whatever he wants. Do I need to sign something?”

Thor lets out a sign like he’s disappointed but just says “no, Steven. It was merely a courtesy,” and leaves the room.

Steve doesn’t go to the gym, avoids looking at Bucky when he comes back from his sessions with Thor, sweaty and smiling and holding an oversized smoothie. Sucking the thick liquid through the straw. It makes his cheeks hollow, highlighting the flush on his face.

It’s easier this way. That’s all Steve can tell himself, wrapping himself in silence and distance.

 

 

His careful routine gets disrupted when Bucky is assigned a new doctor, an obstetrician who’s worked with Dr. Cho before, and comes with pages and pages of recommendations and folders filled with signed SHIELD non-disclosure agreements.

Dr. Holloway is a cheerful beta with dark curly hair and a wide friendly smile. Bucky seems to warm up to her no-nonsense approach and her general dislike of doing too many tests. Non-interventionist, she calls it, and Bucky smiles for the first time at a doctor’s office, just a little bit.

Steve has a countdown calendar on his computer now. One of those apps that tells you what's happening every week. Something like, this week the baby is the size of a kidney bean or a gummy bear, or something equally stupid.

This particular week the email says that the baby is the size of a lemon and that Bucky is now 11 weeks along. He tries to imagine it, but it’s even harder than it was with the gummy bear comparison. A lemon doesn’t even look like a person.

Worst of all is that he’s noticed things, surreptitiously watching Bucky around the apartment. The way he’s started to get a bit podgy, thick around his waist and thighs. Steve wants to squeeze that extra flesh, press his nose into the nape of Bucky’s neck and breathe in all those delicious smells his body is cooking up.

But he doesn’t. That isn’t for him anymore, Bucky isn’t his mate, and he needs to start remembering that. Even with all the daydreams of Bucky round and fat and happy.

This appointment with Dr. Holloway is finally the one with the scan. Steve’s been waiting for it, head filled with lemons and gummy bears. The screen is kind of fuzzy as she turns it to face both him and Bucky, who’s lying on the examination table with his belly covered in goo. At least it doesn’t look like a lemon or a lime or another fruit or vegetable. Kind of looks like an alien, though, even if it’s human-shaped.

Bucky squints his eyes at the screen, and then at Dr. Holloway.

“Is it supposed to look like that?”

She laughs. “Yes, it’s supposed to look like that. Everything is looking normal and healthy.”

She moves the sensor over Bucky’s belly and the image on the screen shifts. She hums and smiles.

“Would you like to know the gender?”

Steve’s gotten too lost in looking at the screen, the round shape of the head, the curled fist by its face. Listening to the _thump thump thump_ of the baby’s heartbeat, and he answers without thinking.

“Yes.”

While Bucky is simultaneously saying “no.”

Steve looks away from the screen and down at Bucky in surprise.

“You don’t want to find out?”

Bucky shakes his head, but says “we can if you want to,” like an offering, and Steve’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no. We should do what you want.”

Dr. Holloway looks between them, like they’re a particularly interesting tennis match, and Steve tries to smile.

“A surprise will be nice.”

Bucky just nods, eyes on the screen again, and Dr. Holloway doesn’t say anything about how it’s really Steve’s choice, and he’s grateful for that.

When the appointment's over and Steve can finally start thinking of the baby as something other than a lemon, he goes online and books an appointment at one of those huge baby emporiums where you can buy everything. Bucky hasn’t mentioned getting started with anything baby-related yet, but Steve remembers having to drag Bucky out for the last shopping excursion and he has a feeling that this one won’t be any different.

He also makes a call to the contractor to get an extra room added to the apartment adjacent to Bucky’s room. A proper nursery. Before he closes the office for the night, he takes a bit of scotch tape and sticks the fuzzy picture of the scan on to the edge of his computer screen. So that he sees it every day.

Bucky’s stuck his copy of the scan picture on the fridge with a cheery red magnet, and Steve finds himself touching it every morning like a talisman.

A week later he insists on driving them to the baby-store appointment. The warehouse is upstate, an hour’s drive up from the compound. Bucky turns on the radio in the car and hums along with the music the whole way there. It’s calming, the lilt of his voice, the low vibrations of it sinking into Steve’s skin.

When they enter the store, a cheery beta welcomes them at the check-in desk. “If I could just get your license number and we’ll then get you on the system.”

“What?”

“Your license, sir. We need the registration number to create your account.”

Steve’s getting irritated. The license is none of this woman’s business. It’s no one’s business but his and Bucky’s.

“I’m not giving you my license.”

She looks at him with sudden hardness in her eyes, hand hovering over the phone on the desk.

“Sir, in order for us to sell any products to you, we will need to see a breeding license. It’s state law.”

Steve calls SHIELD and has a whispered screaming conversation with some poor junior agent in records. After a brief shuffling on the other end of the phone, Steve hands the lady his SHIELD ID, which is followed by many profuse apologies about an error in the system and how his government-mandated status had not come up properly.

After checking them in, she gives them a voucher for 25% off all purchases with a stiff smile. Too angry to stay still, he grabs Bucky’s hand and heads off to the massive warehouse before their assigned sales assistant has a chance to come and meet them.

The area for the strollers is close by and Steve pulls Bucky along, looking at the displays and information sheets. Bucky’s hovering by some of the cheaper models, poking them with his hands and even having a cautious push back and forth with a few of the ones on display.

Steve growls under his breath and hustles him towards the premium ranges. He can’t give Bucky many of the things he needs, but he can give this.

“Steve, these are really expensive…”

“Don’t look at the price, just pick the one you want.”

He points at one near the middle of the display. It has a black robust body and large wheels.

“Look at that one, you can get a running chassis for it. Wouldn’t that be good?”

Bucky nods dubiously.

The same thing repeats with the car seats. Steve adamantly refuses to buy anything but the top of the range with the highest safety ratings and features, while Bucky nervously fiddles with the price tags.

“Bucky?”

“It’s just really expensive, Steve…”

“Please let me do this?”

Bucky purses his lips, still hovering over the expensive car seat uncertainly, but he nods.

When they reach the furniture section, Steve knows he’s won the battle. He can see Bucky’s eyes drawing constantly to a beautiful cherry wood crib proudly on display. The shop assistant seems to see this too.

“It comes with a lovely changing table-dresser combo and we can also set the premium range nursing chair with the cherry wood legs.”

Bucky runs his fingers over the smooth wood, wraps his fingers around the top banister, and Steve gets the strongest sense of leaning into this crib, late at night, the air suffused with the mixed scent of him and Bucky, with something small and dark-haired shuffling in sleep on the mattress.

“We’ll take it.”

“The crib, sir?”

“All of it.”

The shop assistant hustles to the workstation as quickly as her short legs can carry her, writing up their order. When Steve finally turns around from signing for everything, Bucky is nowhere to be found. He searches for 10 minutes, getting more and more panicked. He’s ready to call in Tony and get him to track Bucky’s phone, when Steve spots him in an aisle of baby clothing. Bucky’s holding a set of newborn sleepsuits. They’re nice and bright, in shades of green and yellow.

He doesn’t look up when Steve approaches, but seems to know he’s there anyway.

“They’re really small.”

“Yeah…”

The anger drains out of him, and Steve isn’t really sure what to say, what the right words are for this, but Bucky doesn’t seem to mind, continues to talk with his eyes fixed on the little suits clasped tightly in his hand.

“It’s going to be really small. When it’s born.”

Bucky’s flexing the fingers on his left hand, holding it away from the fabric, the plates clicking quietly.

“I shouldn’t…I’m not made to hold anything small.”

Steve reaches out, folds his fingers around the metal fist now clutched by Bucky’s side. It feels cool under his hand, smooth and lovely, like any part of Bucky would be.

“You are, Buck. You’re made to protect, and you’ll be the best damn parent ever to grace this earth.”

Bucky looks up at him then with so much naked longing, his nostrils flaring, breath coming in short little pants. Carefully, telegraphing his movements Steve reaches out, slowly folding Bucky against his chest like he’s been yearning to do for weeks, for months really. Wrapping his arms around Bucky’s shoulders and his waist. Pressing the slight swell of his belly into Steve’s stomach, feeling it properly for the first time.

Bucky almost collapses against him, his hands coming around Steve’s back. He’s whispering into Steve’s shoulder, “I don’t know if I can do this right. I’m not _good_.”

“You are, Buck, you are so good. This baby is going to be so lucky to have you. Okay?”

“Please don’t leave.”

The words are breathed into Steve’s neck and he fights the tears he feels already clogging the back of his throat.

“Of course I won’t. I’ll be here as long as you’ll let me, okay?”

“Promise?”

Bucky fingers tighten on the back of his shirt, the fabric pulling against Steve’s skin.

“Yeah, Buck. I promise.”

Steve doesn’t know how long they stay in that quiet aisle, holding each other, breathing each other in. It’s the best thing he’s felt in weeks, in months, maybe. Bucky pliant and held close, the pregnant scent of him, near where Steve can finally breathe him in as much as he wants.

Eventually, they part, Bucky looking sheepish, but Steve just takes the sleep suits from his hand and puts them into an empty trolley he’d left by the end of the aisle.

The rest of the day goes without incident. Well, mostly.

They have most of the things now, piled into several trolleys. The fancy stroller and an additional running frame, a car seat, more clothing than the kid will need in its lifetime. Toys. A white noise generator and a rocker. Muslins, swaddling cloths - which Steve still finds a completely mystery even after the demonstration - and two blankets with stars on them. The crib, changing table and nursing chair are on order and will be delivered to the compound in six to eight weeks.

They’re milling by the check-outs, standing by a display of soft toys, waiting for the sales assistant to bring in the final order forms, when Steve hears it. Someone talking behind him, voice low, but no less audible for it.

“Fucking hell, you see all kinds these days. Omega up the duff and not even bonded.”

He sees Bucky stiffen beside him, and Steve doesn’t even think, just turns around, takes two steps and punches the Alpha right in the face. His fist connecting with the man’s nose, blood starting to pour out.

“Say that to my fucking face, asshole.”

Then Bucky is pulling him away, hands on his shoulders and elbow.

“It’s not worth it, Steve.”

The police get called in, and then SHIELD shows up. Coulson, bland and smiling again. The cops get more and more twitchy the longer they speak with him. The other Alpha gets taken away, cursing “well I didn’t fucking know it was a government breeding Alpha,” which makes Steve want to punch him again; the only thing restraining him is Bucky’s hand resting over the crook of his elbow, the way he’s looking at Coulson like he wants to run.

“Just leave it, Steve, he’s not worth it.”

He’s not sure if Bucky’s talking about the other Alpha or Coulson, but he glows under his breath anyway and pulls Bucky to his side, hands possessive over his hips. Bucky doesn’t resist, just comes, pliant and easy and smelling ripe, which doesn’t really help Steve’s protective instincts at all.

That evening he hides in the games room at the compound. At least there’s beers in the fridge. He’s halfway through his second drink when Steve hears the door opening and the soft, careful footsteps that can only be Natasha approaching.

“So, I heard that you can’t even go shopping for baby gear without getting law enforcement involved?”

He gives Natasha the finger without looking up, but she seems unaffected by it as always.

“Cheer up, Rogers. You got to go all cave-Alpha in public, apparently, the shop assistants were all ready to swoon at your unparalleled manliness.”

He hears himself chuckle, but it’s not funny, not even close, and Natasha seems to know that.

“But they weren’t the ones you wanted to be swooning, I think.”

He presses his forehead into the cool surface of the table. She’s always been able to find his soft spots. Aim right at them. There’s no point in lying to her now, if there ever was.

“I want to be with him so bad, Nat.”

She slides to sit in the chair next to him and pulls a beer from the cooler at the back of bar counter, flipping the cap open. She takes a long pull from the neck of the bottle, letting the liquid swirl as she moves.

“Steve, the only one standing in the way of that is you.”

He can’t help but laugh again, it sounds tired, defeated even to himself. Worn thin and empty.

“He’s compatible with Rumlow. Or was. Whatever. Like 70-odd percent.”

“And?”

“And I’m not. I did the compatibility checker and it was something like 28 percent.”

She huffs at him, annoyed, but Steve can’t bring himself to care.

“Steve, that means squat.”

“You know that’s not true.”

She touches his shoulder then, her warm hand pressing into his skin through the fabric of his t-shirt. It’s comforting. It’s not what he wants, but maybe it’s what he needs. The words tumbling out.

“I just…I just wish…”

He doesn’t know how to finish that sentence. All those wishes, hopes and dreams that he’s too scared to put into words. Natasha doesn’t say anything, just sits there with him for a long while, both of them slowly drinking their beers while the evening darkens around them.

When he finally goes home, turns on the TV, Bucky comes and sits close to him on the couch, slowly inching his way across the cushions until his side is pressed into Steve’s. Almost without thinking, Steve lifts his arm and pulls Bucky against him, arm around his shoulders.

Bucky sighs and snuggles into his side. He opens his mouth a few times as if to say something, but then looks away and stays quiet. Steve tries asking “what’s up?” but Bucky just shakes his head and buries his nose into the edge of Steve’s bicep, curling his body into a ball on the couch.

Steve gets it, the day had been stressful for him, and he’s been reading that in pregnancy Omegas will often feel an instinctive need to be close to an Alpha. Something to do with a need for protection, not that Bucky would ever need that, but Steve lets himself enjoy the closeness nonetheless. Feeling needed.

Natasha comes into the conference room without knocking the next day when he’s up to his eyeballs in reporting from the Triskelion training camps.

“There’s something you need to see.”

She takes him into the command center and loads up one of the SHIELD terminals they use for remote mission control.

“When Hill was here, she re-did Bucky’s questionnaire and SHIELD set-up.”

He pulls up one of the wheely chairs from the other terminal and sits next to her.

“Why?”

“Because he had admitted to lying in the Registry interview and the army take-in interview as well.”

He tries to keep his face even, but Steve’s sure that she can pick out the shock on his face, the questions swirling in his mind.

“What? Why?”

“That’s something you need to ask him.”

She shrugs as she loads up the Registry portal, and pushes the keyboard towards him.

“Go on, log in.”

Steve watches the logo swirling on the screen, like he did that first time, before Bucky came into his life, before any of this had happened. It feels like a lifetime ago now.

“Fury wants to use their Algorithm for the matching. He’s done a few test runs and both me and Clint have been through this. So it’s working.”

She pulls up Bucky’s file and inputs his details into the compare match field. Steve remembers the last time he did this, the bitter disappointment, all those crushed hopes.

The logo swirls. He closes his eyes so that he doesn’t see it, listens to his own breathing, counts. _One. Two. three._

When he opens his eyes the page has loaded.

86%.

“What the…?”

“Yeah.”

“How is that possible?”

Natasha just smiles, enigmatic and pleased with herself, like she'd known it all along.

“But he hates me!”

“Oh for god’s sake, Steve! He doesn’t hate you! If you’d take one moment to pull your head out of your ass, you’d see that he’s been trying to woo you in all the ways an Omega can, knows how.”

It’s odd, like someone has just turned on the lights in a dark room, illuminating a vast space around him. Slowly, Steve starts to reframe their interactions in his head. They way Bucky skittishly stays out of his way now, those plates of food with the post-it notes. And before, the way Bucky was always offering to go away, to not be there, like it’s he who isn’t wanted.

“Shit.”

Natasha leans on the desk, her body slight next to his and she seems happy, pleased for once.

“Yeah, Rogers. Shit is right.”

 


	13. the heart is made better

 

Bucky wakes up with that antsy restless feeling again. Sheets tangled around his legs, pulling and annoying. He'd spoken about it with Dr. Holloway during one of their appointments, and she'd reassured him that it was all completely normal and he should feel free to indulge his heightened sex drive as much as he felt he needed.

But that’s easier said than done with an Alpha like Steve. Dr. Holloway had also suggested, as he and Steve were not bonded, that Bucky could look for someone else, but he’d rebuffed that suggestion instantly. The idea of someone else had made him feel strange, like he’d be cheating. She’d jotted something down on her notepad and hadn’t mentioned it again.

For a while, it had been enough just spending time with Thor and training with him, the physicality of those touches. The other Alpha’s jovial nature and instinctive way of looking after Bucky without crowding him had been keeping his needs in check. Well, most of them anyway.

Then…then it had started to get harder. He’d started to want things that Thor couldn't and wouldn’t provide for him. His only option had been to take matters into his own hands, so to speak. It had been easy enough to while he was in New York, barring that one excruciating conversation with Pepper, who’d been more than happy to accompany him to one of the blue shops in the West Village. Omegas couldn't go alone, after all.

He'd gone home with a dildo and a butt plug. They’re both very nice, useful, and expensive, because Pepper had been with him and she wouldn’t let him buy anything from the cheaper ranges. That had just made him think of Steve, and she’d smiled, gentle and kind, like she’d known who he’d been thinking of while making the purchase.

Steve, who’d been avoiding him for weeks. Bucky had been expecting it, still felt like he deserved it, but it still hurt, and he _had_ been trying. Had tried to be pleasing; tried to get Steve engaged with the baby. He’d even offered to find out the gender, but Steve had adamantly refused in the end. Always so polite and distant. In his mounting frustration, Bucky’d goaded him, fought about SHIELD, about joining up. He’d tried to get Steve to stake a claim then, and Steve had. He really had. Glowing and possessive.

_I am your Alpha._

But as soon as he’d said it, Steve had taken it back, deferential and distant again, the shift in his emotions nearly giving Bucky whiplash. Then there was a wall between them; even more so now than it ever had been in the beginning, Steve’s politeness freezing him out. A distance Bucky couldn't even hope to breach, didn’t know how.

Bucky rolls onto his side, looking around the still-dim morning light. Most of the things from the baby store are littered around his room, still in bags and boxes. He hadn’t wanted to unpack anything. It’s only been a few days since the shopping trip, and he wants Steve here beside him when he does, not trusting himself with the small, fragile things.

It still makes him shiver, a strange mixture of gratitude and arousal at the way Steve had held him, allowed Bucky to scent and be close at the store. He rolls over onto his belly, pushing his ass up. He knows he’s alone, but he feels like presenting. Rubs his face into the warm sheets. Recalling the memory of Steve’s hands on the side of his thighs, pressing him open. The thought is making him wet, not that it takes much these days.

Bucky’s eyes go to the bedside table, to the drawer that’s still slightly ajar. He knows that he shouldn’t, but it’s just too tempting, it just feels too good. And he feels like today’s the day. Last night after coming back from a meeting with Natasha, Steve had smiled at him, cautious and shy, like something had shifted in him, and Bucky’s fed up of waiting.

He wiggles back into the center of the bed on his side and pulls up his top leg, feeling between his legs, pressing down on his perineum, rubbing the pads of his fingers over his hole. It’s easy to get himself slick, ease in a tip or two, and spread himself open. It feels good. Not as good as he remembers Steve’s thick, calloused fingers feeling, but nice enough.

He grabs the plug from the bedside table and spends a few moments teasing himself with the tapered tip. Letting himself feel the stretch until the plug slides in and his hole closes around the stem. Bucky breathes with the feeling of his channel milking the toy until it settles, that delicious press inside him every time he moves.

Eventually, Bucky forces himself to roll out of bed and pull on his pajama pants. Leaning on the dresser, waiting for his body to adjust, knowing he really shouldn’t be doing this. Steve will scent it on him, the slick and all that need, but he’s tried everything else, has kept his distance and been respectful. It’s time to bring out the big guns now.

It feels weird walking, standing, with the heavy press of the toy inside, the shift and weight of it. Bucky breathes, even and slow, fighting the flush he can feel on his shoulders and neck already, opening the fridge and starting mixing the batter. Getting breakfast ready.

He’s chopping mangoes and strawberries in the kitchen when Steve finally comes out of his room, wearing those infernal thin pajama pants again and a faded SHIELD t-shirt. A stack of pancakes is already on the counter, and juice and butter and syrup are ready and waiting on the table.

Steve yawns and freezes not too far from the kitchen, and Bucky can see his nostrils working, scenting the air. His fingers clench and unclench by his sides like he wants to grab something.

“Buck?”

Bucky loves the nickname, the familiarity implied there, but he doesn’t look up, just lets out a distracted “hmm?”

“Are you….”

Then Steve’s walking up to him, pressing his big body to Bucky’s back, suddenly trapping him against the counter, both of Steve’s arms circling him. He feels Steve’s nose and lips at the back of his neck, nosing aside the hairs there as he breathes, great big huffs of air, and Bucky whines, pressing his ass into Steve’s hips, already feeling his hardening cock. Bucky wants it in him, but the plug is in the way. He presses back, rocking into the cradle of Steve’s hips.

“Fuck, Bucky…”

Suddenly Steve is shoving him down on the counter and pulling his sweatpants down over his ass. The cool air of the kitchen hits him, making him clench around the intrusion of the plug. Bucky isn’t wearing any underwear, and he can hear Steve growling when he arches his ass up, presenting, spreading his legs as much as he can with his thighs still trapped in his pants. Steve runs his thumb down the valley of Bucky ass until his finger is resting on the base of the plug.

“What is this?” Steve presses down hard as he speaks, and Bucky can only squeak “I was…I was getting ready for you.”

Steve growls again, loud and possessive this time, deep from his chest, pressing Bucky harder into the counter, the edges of it digging into his hips. He savours the ache of it, savours that Steve doesn’t care to be gentle now. He presses down on the plug again, hard, moving it, fucking Bucky with slow grinding presses of his thumb right where he needs it.

_“Good boy.”_

Bucky nearly comes there and then. His legs trembling where he’s pushed up on his toes over the counter by Steve’s demanding hands. Then Steve’s fingers are wrapping around the base of the plug and he’s sliding it out of Bucky’s body, slowly, letting the thick part stretch him open again, and replacing it with the head of his cock. It’s thick and the press of it stings even after the stretch of the toy.

Bucky’s fingers skid over the smooth worktop as he tries to get leverage. His left arm clicking, the synapses overwhelmed. He tries to fuck back into Steve’s iron hold over his hips, whining, tries to take what he wants, but Steve just holds him still exactly where he wants him.

“No.”

Bucky quietens, stills, and lets Steve slides into him at his own pace, slow like torture. It’s been months, and the feel of Steve’s fat cock is exactly what Bucky’s been needing. The thick, heavy weight of him inside, something to clench down on. The feeling of being open, stretched, owned. Steve’s cock is blood-hot in him, and just perfect.

Then Steve lowers himself over Bucky’s back, trapping him between the counter and Steve’s body. He feels the bite of teeth at his nape, not breaking the skin but holding him, demanding submission. He doesn’t know how long they stay that way, Steve holding him, a heavy weight inside of his body, the steady beat of his heart against Bucky’s back, like he’s waiting for something.

Bucky whines, pleading, arching up, trying to spread his legs, to submit properly.

“I’m your good boy?”

He means it as a statement but it comes out a question, uncertain. Steve licks over the back of his neck, the indentations his teeth have made. Kissing the skin and whispering.

“You’re my good boy, Buck. So perfect.”

Bucky feels himself flushing at the praise, keening into the worktop. Then Steve presses down on his hips, rising up. Growling and grunting and finally fucking Bucky with all the frustration that’s been boiling between them for weeks and weeks. He can feel Steve pressing down over his rim with his thumb, rubbing the skin where they’re joined.

Bucky can only moan, cry out and take it, his hole aching with the rush of blood, with Steve’s huge cock rearranging his insides to its liking. Steve palms his ass, spreading him open. He must be looking right at Bucky’s stretched-out entrance, the way his cock is spreading Bucky open, wet and swollen and vulnerable.

Steve rumbles his approval and slides his hand over Bucky’s shoulder, down his arm to hold Bucky’s wrists down on the counter. Bending down over him, blanketing his back again, licking and sucking the back of Bucky’s neck as Steve finally comes. But he doesn’t let the knot catch, holding it in his palm just outside of Bucky’s body, the side of his hand pressing against Bucky’s furiously contracting hole, his thumb pressing the sensitive edge, just the tip of the finger pressing inside, stretching him even more.

Bucky’s achingly hard, trembling with it, right on the edge of coming. Moaning, whining, begging.

“Please. Please, Steve, I’ve been good.”

“You’ve been so _good_ , Bucky.”

Steve’s hand sneaks around Bucky’s body, coming to grasp his dick, slowly working him over, pressing his thumb over the soaking head, rubbing the sensitive glands inside his foreskin. It only takes a few pulls for Bucky to come, clenching around Steve’s softening cock. Shooting over the side of the counter, his spunk sliding down the cabinet door.

Steve’s hand moves up from his wet, softening cock, pressing into the swell of Bucky’s stomach. It’s the first time he’s touched Bucky there, and he closes his eyes at that gentle hold. The way Steve’s fingers splay open, the careful way he noses the back of Bucky’s neck again, breathing him in.

Eventually, after long, slow minutes, Steve pulls out and Bucky tries to clench down, feeling Steve’s come dripping out of him, trying to keep it in. Then he feels the tapered end of the plug against his tender hole and Steve’s fingers pushing the toy into him. Plugging him up with Steve’s come still inside. Giving Bucky what he needs.

Steve slides his finger over the valley of Bucky’s ass, approving and proprietary, and then he steps away.

“Breakfast looks great.”

It takes a moment for the words to register for Bucky, still lying over the counter with his pants down around his knees, his thighs achy and sticky.

Bucky scrambles up and pulls his pajamas back into place. Whips some kitchen paper off the roll to wipe down the counter and door. Steve’s already making his way to the table, the bowl and mangoes and strawberries on hand.

Bucky’s still hovering by the counter, his knees trembling as Steve sits down and motions to the chair opposite with a totally neutral expression. Slowly, Bucky moves to the table and sits down, squirming with the plug pressing in all the right places and his cock still leaking.

Steve helps himself to the pancakes and fruit, like everything is normal, like he hasn’t just fucked Bucky over the counter.

“The mangoes look nice.”

Bucky glowers at him and Steve feigns not noticing. So, this is how it’s going to be then. Two can play that game. He picks up a piece of mango with his metal hand, taking it to his mouth and sucking the fruit between his lips. It’s sweet and tart.

“Yeah, yeah they are.”

Bucky licks the juice off his fingers, gratified to see the muscle in Steve’ cheek twitching. So he carries on, picking pieces of fruit from the bowl with his fingers, slowly eating them, letting the juices run over his lips and down his fingers. Biting into the red flesh of the strawberries with his teeth.

“You don’t want any pancakes?”

Steve’s voice sounds pretty strangled, and Bucky just smiles.

“Nope. I’m good.”

The fruit bowl is almost empty by the time Steve finally breaks. Springing up from his chair and pulling Bucky up out of his, growling “you’re such an asshole” as he goes.

Steve drags him down the corridor and into the bathroom off Steve’s room. He pulls Bucky’s t-shirt over his head and yanks his pants down, his fingers skimming over Bucky’s ass and thighs, like he’s looking for something. The fingers feeling the base of the plug between his cheeks make Bucky yelp, and he presses back into them. Steve just hums.

Then he sheds his own clothing, and Bucky can’t help but reach out and touch, fingers skimming over the smooth skin of Steve’s chest. As soon as Steve’s pulled his shirt over his head, he grabs Bucky’s hand, pulling it to him, kissing the tips of his fingers. The soft touch registering even on the metal, while Steve leads him into the shower, and under the spray of hot water.

Steve presses his shoulder, turns him, guides Bucky’s hands to rest on the wall, then falls onto his kneels on the floor behind him. Huge palms smoothing up and over Bucky’s thighs, thumbs pressing his asscheeks wide. Then Steve pulls the plug out. Slowly, carefully. Fingers spreading Bucky open, and then Steve’s hot tongue is pressing inside him. Bucky nearly cries with the sweet relief of it. Steve’s sucking and biting at his hole, pressing his tongue inside and teasing the sore edges of his entrance.

Steve cleans him, rubbing him all over with a soapy cloth. Nosing and touching each part of Bucky’s body, like he’s checking for injuries, changes. He spends a long time soaping up the swell of Bucky’s belly, letting his fingers learn the skin, murmuring words that Bucky can’t make out over the sound of the pounding water.

Afterwards, when he’s still wrapped up in towels on the bed, Steve’s too impatient, just pushes the fabric up to get at Bucky’s ass. Hands wrapping around his hips to lift Bucky up onto his knees, making him present. He’s so wet and open now, dripping almost like he’s in heat.

“Steve, please. _Alpha_.”

He doesn’t make Bucky wait, not this time, just presses his cock inside, the thick weight of it so welcome and needed. Bucky grabs a pillow, buries his face into the softness to cover any sounds he might be making.

But Steve doesn’t let him hide. He pulls Bucky up, easing him against his chest, so that he’s sitting in Steve’s lap, the fat length of his cock pressed inside of him to the root. Bucky can feel the knot starting to swell, pressing against his rim, into his prostate. Steve’s hands run over the swell of his belly, finger splaying possessively the same way he’s been doing all day. He’s talking, whispered words into Bucky’s neck, like Bucky’s not even supposed to hear them, secrets and broken things.

“You look so good, Buck, so hot, your belly and your ass and your thighs. I just want to hold you all the time, fuck you, know that I got you this way, I bred you.”

“Steve, _Alpha_. Please.”

He can’t really move, not that much, just grind down on Steve’s cock, clench around that fat knot filling him so perfectly now. Arch his back, press his belly into Steve’s hands, let him feel the changes in his body, letting the Alpha touch all he wants, and Steve does want, his hands are moving, ravenous in their exploration.

“Good boy, just like that, Buck.”

He pinches Bucky’s nipples, twisting them between his fingers, pulling until Bucky cries out. The sounds make Steve growl.

“You’re gonna get so sensitive, aren’t you baby, all tender here for me.”

He’s licking Bucky’s neck, gentle little bites as he teases Bucky’s nipples to the edge of pain. His other hand slides down Bucky’s body, comes to grasp Bucky’s leaking, swollen cock. Working it over, twisting over the head and rubbing over and under the foreskin, the wet, leaking slit. His orgasm takes Bucky by surprise, and he’s suddenly coming over Steve’s hand, clenching down on Steve’s knot, milking it, begging Steve to come with his body.

“That’s it, baby, so good for me.”

Steve eases them to lie on their sides while Bucky’s still shaking and twitching from his orgasm. Pressing his knot deeper inside Bucky, fucking slowly, carefully, teeth at the back of his neck, until Steve finally comes, tying them together. Bucky arches into the feeling, the huge knot, the pull at his hole, the tender edge of pain that reminds him that Steve is really here, holding him, keeping him. Bucky’s missed this, wanted it, needed it. The feel of Steve as close as he can get, making sure that he can’t leave, tied together like they’re meant to be.

Bucky thinks he falls asleep for a while, secure in the knowledge that Steve is there, the gentle soothing breaths and wordless words whispered into the back of his neck.

 

 

When Bucky wakes up, he’s wrapped in the blankets and sheets and Steve. He can feel Steve’s steady breaths against the back of his neck, the way his ribcage expands and contracts against his back. It’s comforting, almost familiar now, and Bucky presses back, trying to settle in properly, until Steve speaks.

“I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to jump you like that.”

Steve sounds worried, cautious in a way he never should, not with this, and Bucky just tries to snuggle closer, to show how welcome Steve is, how he never wants anything, anyone, else.

“I wanted you to. Been missing that. With all the hormones.”

“Is that what this is? Just…hormones?”

There’s something careful in Steve’s tone, something held back, and Bucky realizes that maybe his answer means more to Steve than he’d understood before. Maybe Steve is worried that it’s _Bucky_ who doesn’t want this, but he can’t help his own insecurities, can’t silence the doubt in his own head. Still not so sure of Steve’s affections.

“Are you gonna leave if I say ‘no’?”

He feels Steve shaking his head, the movement clear against Bucky’s shoulder where Steve’s pressed himself in.

“No, Buck, I’m not gonna leave.”

“Okay. That’s good.”

Steve doesn’t let him out of bed the whole day, pulling Bucky back in when he tries to go to the gym. Bundling them both up in blankets and sheets and fucking him when Bucky gets restless, holding him close and tying them together, so he can’t leave, doesn’t want to leave. Steve retrieves food, and drinks, and even Bucky’s tablet so that they can watch a show, just so that Bucky doesn't have to get out of the bed.

He’s so distracted by the program Bucky isn’t even sure if Steve notices the way his hand is constantly rubbing over Bucky’s belly. Fingertips catching the cotton of his shirt, rubbing the skin where the fabric’s ridden up. Gentle and so, so careful.

Bucky lets him, feels the undercurrent of something in Steve, a restlessness and fear that he doesn’t know how to soothe. Holding Bucky, having him close seems to help, so he stays, lets Steve fuss and hold him.

They wake up together the next morning, again wrapped up in each other, naked skin pressed together. Steve goes down on him first thing. Hungry and ravenous, sucking Bucky’s dick and licking at his hole. They fuck afterwards, Bucky on top and Steve’s hands over his hips, fingers pressing against the bone, rubbing slow, measured circles as Bucky comes, crying and moaning out his pleasure.

Eventually Bucky starts to feel the sweat and come and god knows what else drying on him, and he tries to get up, but Steve keeps pulling him back into bed. To kiss him, to hold him, rolling him under Steve’s body like he’s shielding Bucky from a firefight. Bucky grins, like Steve is being silly.

“Steve, I have to go out today, I can’t spend the whole day in bed again. I already blew off my training session with Thor yesterday.”

Steve’s body freezes, tension returning to his muscles, and Bucky feels his smile falter.

“Okay.” Steve seems strangely chastised. “Of course. You should go.”

He rolls off Bucky, pulling himself to sit up, pulling away. Bucky sits up too, carefully, trying to get a read on Steve.

“Do you not want me to?”

“No, no of course not. You should go.”

Steve’s fidgeting. He’s sitting on the bed with his hands in his lap, twisting his fingers like he’s stopping himself from grabbing something. Not meeting Bucky’s eye, so Bucky doesn’t really believe him. Steve’s not a very good liar; that’s something Bucky’s starting to slowly learn about him.

“Does it bother you? Me and Thor training together?”

“No!” Steve’s pressing his thumb into his palm now, face tight. “I want you to be happy, Bucky.”

“Okay. Well, would you like to train with me?”

“What?”

It seems to take Steve completely off guard, surprise showing on his face, and Bucky smiles, tries to make himself look open.

“Well, you’ve seen me fight, and I think it might be good for us. To do something like that together.”

“Uh….I don’t know.”

“Why not?”

The hesitance doesn’t suit Steve at all. “I mean with the baby, and I could hurt you…”

Bucky scoffs. “It’s been fine with Thor, and Dr. Holloway has cleared it. It’s just easy stuff, no kicks. Just locks and evasion. Come on, Steve, please?”

Eventually, Steve just seems to run out of excuses.

“Alright, alright, fine. I’ll come to the gym with you. Not promising to spar.”

Bucky nods, trying to look meek and accepting. He’ll take what he can get, especially with Steve.

They both shower, separately, to Bucky’s great annoyance, and get dressed. Steve’s still fidgeting all the way to the gym. He does a full perimeter check on the gym floor while Bucky leans against the weights stand, looking at Steve’s practiced, economical movements through the room.

“Are we expecting an attack on the compound, by any chance?”

Steve at least has the grace to look chastised, shaking his head.

Bucky starts by working on the bag, easy punches and kicks to warm up, while Steve steadies it for him. It’s an Alpha set-up at the gym, calibrated for their strength. Bucky wonders if it makes Steve uncomfortable, to see his strength, to know that Bucky can match him. He wonders sometimes if the distance, the reluctance between them is because of that. But Steve’s face remains neutral through the work-out, so it’s hard to tell.

It takes him nearly an hour of goading and cajoling before Steve agrees to try even the most basic of wrist locks, but once they do, even Steve seems surprised at how easy it is. How easily they read each other, move together without even a fraction of a second's hesitation, like they’ve been sparring together for years, if not decades.

It feels so different from sparring with Thor. That had been playful and easy and fun, getting to know someone and learning their quirks. With Steve it’s like there’s nothing to learn, like he already knows everything, anticipates the moves even before Steve thinks them, and it’s the same in return. Steve knows where he’ll move even before Bucky can fully formulate the thought, even to tense his muscles.

It’s a complicated set of locks and twists, while they move in sync, flowing like water, a single thought between them, and suddenly he has Steve on the mat, pressed up under Bucky’s hands, and he has no recollection how they got there, just instinctual movements.

“Whoa.”

Steve tenses, his expression suddenly looking strangely guilty. He pulls away, fidgeting with his fingers again. Rolling to sit up, elbows resting on his knees, rubbing over the sweaty strands of his hair.

“We have a really high compatibility score.”

“What?”

It takes Bucky a moment to orient himself in the conversation, and Steve takes his silence as a cue to carry on.

“You did the test with SHIELD.”

Bucky nods, cautiously, not sure if he’s liking the direction of this conversation.

“Yeah…”

“They, you know, ran the algorithm. We’re really compatible.”

Bucky just stares at Steve. He hadn’t really given the test much thought after he’d left that meeting with Agent Hill. Hadn’t thought that they’d do anything with his scores, not now, not with the pregnancy. Steve seems to get even more agitated by his continued silence.

“Like in the mid-eighties. It’s really high.”

Bucky looks at him dubiously again. Alphas always put so much weight on these things. Compatibility, scores, algorithms. Bucky knows that they’re compatible, why would he need a stupid computer score to tell him any different?

“But a lot of it is crap, right? All the compatibility stuff.”

Steve’s face crumples for a fraction of a second before his expression is wiped clean again, and he looks at Bucky calm and sure.

“Well, SHIELD is going to use it to match you to a partner.”

Finally, things start to make sense, Steve’s nervousness, his fumbling. It’s like butterflies in his belly, nervousness and excitement all at once, and Bucky can’t help the little smile. Maybe this is finally it.

“They want to match me with you?”

There’s a slight hesitation before Steve answers “yes…”

Steve’s hesitation throws him and words just come out before Bucky can think. “Is that not what you want?”

He doesn’t want to give Steve any more doubts, but Steve just shakes his head, looking tired. “No, it’s great. Just complicated, you know, with the baby.”

And then the final piece falls into place and Bucky suddenly feels cold. Steve sees it as a job. Being Bucky’s Alpha is a job to him, is going to be a job for him because that’s what SHIELD wants. All that expectation, all those hopes and dreams, and it’s nothing but a job.

“Right. Okay. Well, tell them it’s fine.”

It’s the same hesitation on Steve’s face and posture again, until he sighs “okay.”

Bucky doesn’t look at Steve as they pack up and leave the gym. Steve disappears into his office for the rest of the day. Bucky doesn’t see him, not for dinner, or while watching Netflix on the couch, that jittery feeling still in him like there’s something missing, a heavy weight of things unsaid between them. Like an elastic pulled to its breaking point, trembling and full of tension.

It’s not until late that night when there’s a hesitant knock on his door. There’s only one person it could be and Bucky calls “come in” before the sound of the knocking has even properly died. He hasn’t been able to sleep, just lay there waiting, willing for something to happen.

Steve opens the door and comes in. Crawls into the bed, pulls Bucky to him, manhandles him into his embrace, not that Bucky’s resisting him. Scents him, licks Bucky’s glands with near-on desperation, with a low humming whine so strange from an Alpha.

“I don’t want to trap you, Buck. I want you to be free. I want to give you everything.”

“It’s okay, Steve. It’s okay.”

Steve just shakes his head and it takes Bucky a moment to realize that he’s crying. Pressed into Bucky’s neck, his side, huge shoulders heaving. He kisses over Steve’s head, takes his hand and places it over the swell of his belly. Holding it there while Steve cries.

The words catch in his throat, just on the edge of being said.

_I love you._

 


	14. to the houses of feasting

 

He wakes up before Bucky does and leaves him to sleep. It’s still dark outside as Steve kisses his hair, breathing in the scent of them, still lingering, mingled in the room, closing the door with a quiet click behind him. He knows what he needs to do. What he has to do.

The drive to New York is easy enough that early in the morning, the traffic only really picking up as he gets closer to Manhattan. He parks in the multi-storey lot around the corner from the Registry, flashing his SHIELD ID to the woman in the booth. Coulson meets him in the foyer as soon as Steve walks in, ill-fitting suit and bland smile as always. Clearly called in by Steve’s unscheduled, early-morning visit.

“What can I do for you, Captain Rogers?”

Polite as ever, and Steve smiles, sharp and thin. Tells Coulson what he wants. Watching the other man blanch at his words, but he does nod eventually, hands clasped in front, non-threatening.

“Whatever you need, Captain.”

The Registry is easy after that, throwing his weight around with Coulson standing behind him, fidgeting. Getting exactly what he wants. A few of the pencil-pushers grumble, but Steve has a way of standing over them until all the paperwork is printed, signed and filed. Rubber-stamped by the sour-looking Beta clerk. He can hear the grumblings of “completely unheard of” and “who does he think he is,” but Steve just ignores them, picks up the thick folder once the papers are finally handed over by Coulson.

“Are you sure about this, Captain Rogers? There’s still so much time left.”

Coulson's fingers are still gripping the edge of the folder, providing a counterweight. Steve yanks the folder free of the other man’s grip.

“I am. Thank you for your assistance, Agent Coulson.”

Once he’s back in the lot, inside the safety of his car, Steve breathes, slow and steady, squeezing the steering wheel, hearing the leather crack in warning. Shaking himself, Steve turns on the engine and shifts the car into drive. The drive out of Manhattan is as horrible as always, traffic slowing to a crawl on Broadway and then even worse on the 87. It’s already late afternoon when he finally gets back to the compound.

Bucky’s milling around the kitchen, making some sort of pie. He looks up as Steve comes through the door, questions hovering over his face, the careful way he’s holding himself. Smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. Steve walks to the kitchen and carefully lays the folders on the breakfast bar, fingers ghosting over the edges.

“I went to the registry today. This is the pack for the finished contract.”

“What?”

Bucky stands very still by the counter, his eyes pinched and worried, looking at the folder like it’s something nasty. Inside of it is a cheque, Steve knows, a university contract; everything that Bucky should be getting after his 18 months. He’d watched as the clerks filed each and every one of the papers needed for this. But Bucky doesn’t reach out to take it even when Steve pushes it towards him, fidgeting nervously, looking at Steve like he’s been betrayed, hurt.

“You’re ending the contract? Why?!”

The words catch in his throat, but Steve has to say them, get them out before they choke him.

“I want you to be free. You talked about that, about being free, so I want that for you, I want to be able to give that to you.”

“Steve…I don’t know what to say…”

Bucky’s hand is trembling, the flesh one. The metal one is clenched tight by his side. Steve just shakes his head, tired.

“You don’t have to say anything. You deserve this. You and the peanut.”

Nodding towards Bucky’s middle. His voice catches on that last word, but he’s proud of how together he sounds. Bucky’s hand goes to his belly then, fingers grazing over the bump, pulling the fabric of his t-shirt.

Eventually, after what feels like years, _eons_ , Bucky takes the folder, opens it up, looks at the pages. Reads some, skims over the others.

“Thank you.”

His voice is quiet, hard to read and closed off, and for a moment Steve wants to snatch the folder away, make Bucky stay with him forever, but that’s not his place. Which is all made abundantly clear when Bucky closes the folder, takes it into his hands, and walks away. Shoulders bunched up around his ears, back straight and rigid as he disappears down the hall.

Steve feels empty, sagging against the counter, leaning over his forearms and breathing. He’s trying to be happy. Bucky is finally free, free of SHIELD and Hydra and the Registry. _Free of Steve_. Free to make his own choices even if those choices don’t include Steve. After a while, he hears Bucky’s door, hears the front door opening and closing.

Steve doesn’t look, eyes fixed on the half-filled pie on the counter, not sure why his face feels wet.

 

 

Work is a good distraction, filling his days. Mission reports. Counter-intelligence briefings. Agent assessment forms. It all keeps him busy in the days after Bucky is gone. Darcy gives him dirty looks but says nothing, Natasha just looks disappointed, but Steve ignores them both. They don’t _know_ , wouldn’t understand.

It’s day five, when Steve comes out of his office to find Bucky sitting on the dining table, his duffle bag by his feet.

“Bucky?”

He can’t help the hope in his voice, the tightening in his throat, can’t help his treacherous feet that walk him to the dining room, to Bucky. Stopping to stand just a few feet away. Touching distance.

Bucky looks good. Henley stretched over his belly, hair in a messy bun at the back of his head. The blue pea coat draped over the back of the chair. He’s looking at Steve, fingers crossed on the table, easy but guarded. Steve can’t get a read on him, the tight press of his mouth.

“I went to NYU, to Columbia. Talked to them.”

Steve is about to speak, congratulate him, but Bucky waves him silent.

“And yeah, they would give me a full ride, engineering and all, but not because they want me there, or think I have talent, but because they have to. Are obliged to. Obliged to have a creche as well, you know.”

“But…” Steve tries to interrupt, but Bucky just holds up his hand again.

“Yes, I know, Steve. I could still go there and make a life out of it. I know.”

Bucky turns in his seat, facing Steve, hands coming to rest on his thighs. He rubs the fabric like he’s nervous, and Steve wants to tell him, _don’t be nervous, I’m here_ , but the words don’t come. He’s not sure if they would mean anything anymore.

“But the thing is, I don’t want to. You said that you want me to be free. Well, I’m choosing this. SHIELD wants me for me, for my skills and talents.”

“Bucky…”

He can’t help it, breathing out Bucky’s name like a devotion, an invocation, and then Bucky looks up at him, nervous and open and heartfelt.

“So, I’m choosing this. And you. I’m choosing you. I want you, I love you, even if you don’t feel the same. Even if it’s just a job for you.”

“Oh, Bucky, no, _sweetheart_ …that’s not…”

Then Steve’s on his knees in front of Bucky, pressing his head into Bucky’s knees like he’s at prayer. He smells like the city, dust and exhaust and wind blowing off from the Atlantic, salty and foreign.

“I want you to have everything. _Everything_.”

He feels Bucky’s hand gentle over his head, carding through the short strands of hair at the back of it.

“And if what I want is you. This. Us?”

Steve looks up, up into those storm-grey eyes that had had him, had bewitched him from that first moment, maybe even before. On that video recording, the mulish, stubborn look, that had made Steve choose him. The dare and challenge.

“Why would you want…me?”

Bucky leans down, touching their foreheads together, hands over Steve’s cheeks, cradling him like he’s somehow precious.

“Because I love you.”

“Bucky…how…but, I love you!”

“Really?”

He sounds so surprised, so awed by it, and Steve swears that he’ll take the rest of his life making it up to Bucky, making him know how valued he is, how loved. He takes Bucky’s hands in his, kisses his knuckles, both metal and flesh. Kisses over his belly, holds Bucky’s face and reaches up to kiss his cheeks and nose and parted mouth.

It takes him a moment, a breathless stretched eternity of their lips touching, but then it hits. This is the first time he’s kissed Bucky, and Steve instantly feels like he needs to make up for lost time, cupping Bucky’s jaw and angling his face, gently licking at the seam of Bucky’s mouth.

It feels strangely intimate, the way Bucky whimpers against Steve’s lips, the way Steve easily swallows those noises, taking them as his own, his bounty from a gentle conquest.

He rises up onto his knees, rubbing Bucky’s back and the tops of his legs while they kiss. Kind, gentling hands, and Bucky kisses him back, hungrily, not letting Steve pull away. Pushing, falling off the chair and into Steve’s lap, forcing Steve to take his weight, and he does. Gladly, ravenously, licking into Bucky’s mouth, never wanting to let him go.

_Mine. Mine to keep._

They stumble into the bedroom, both reluctant to stop kissing even for a moment, even just to pull off shirts and undo jeans. Banging into walls and doorframes like a particularly uncoordinated ping pong ball. Bucky’s leading them into Steve’s room, and Steve has no objections. The thought of having his room permeated with Bucky’s scent again, the way he smells now, pregnant and ripe, makes him whimper into the kiss. Then they finally tumble into his bed, still half-clothed, hands in each other’s pants. Bucky’s moaning into his neck, canting his hips.

“Fuck, Steve, I want you. Fuck…so much.”

Steve’s too busy kissing Bucky’s neck to pay much attention. Chasing that scent he’s adored since that first day, and the words just slip out in between wet, open-mouthed kisses over Bucky’s shoulder pulled free through the stretched-out neckline of his t-shirt.

“Why would you want me?”

Bucky laughs, holding the back of Steve’s head in both of his hands, gentle, oh-so-gentle.

“Why wouldn’t I? Have you looked in the mirror lately?”

Steve doesn’t lift his head, doesn’t want to.

“Wasn’t always like this, you know…”

“Really?”

There’s surprise in Bucky’s voice and Steve just shrugs.

“Yeah, 90 pounds soaking wet, got beat up a lot.”

But it doesn’t feel as bitter now, saying it out loud, some of the sadness faded with Bucky lying beside him, under him, petting Steve’s back. Steve rolls them over onto their sides, finally looking Bucky in the eye, and there’s no judgment there, no pity. He just runs his fingers over Steve’s cheeks, the crest of his upper lip, smiling.

“I think I would have liked you, a little, stubborn Alpha. I bet you were such a punk.”

Steve can’t help but laugh then too, blushing at Bucky’s words. He reaches over, opens the bedside drawer and takes out a small silver frame, holding it up for Bucky to see.

“That’s me and my ma.”

“You were a cute little thing, weren’t you?”

Steve shrugs, feeling off-balance and flattered at the same time. His clothes don’t really fit in the picture and he’s scowling. He runs the tip of a finger over his ma’s face, lost in thought for a minute. She would have loved Bucky, would have kicked Steve’s ass for everything he’d done, kept him on the straight and narrow. Made Steve make an honest Omega out of Buck. The thought makes him smile, as he puts the picture away in the drawer again.

“Alphas aren’t supposed to be cute. I was always the smallest, the weakest, the runt of the pack who was never going to mate, was never going to have anyone.”

“Oh, Steve…”

Bucky snuggles closer, pressing his lips and the cold tip of his nose into Steve’s neck. And Steve breathes, a long shuddering inhale.

“And it didn’t help, the way I was…things I wanted. Sometimes.”

“Things you wanted?”

If they’re going to bond, Bucky should know. It’s only fair, after all. And he can then decide to leave. Not go through with it.

“Sometimes…I mean, I love what we do, I really do, I just sometimes…”

Bucky’s looking up at him now, frowning in confusion.

“What we do?”

“Sex, Bucky. The kind of sex we have. I just…sometimes I want, different things.”

Bucky’s not smiling anymore, his eyes closing off. Worried.

“Okay…I mean, do you want…someone else?”

“No! God, Bucky, no!”

Steve reaches out, pulling Bucky back to him, against his chest, petting over his shoulder and back.

“Then what is it?”

“Well – sometimes I wish you would do me – fuck me.”

Bucky’s eyes are wide as saucers.

“You don’t have to! I really don’t expect you to…I know, I’m not supposed to want that.”

“You’d…you’d let me take you, like you take an Omega?”

Steve just nods, ashamed.

“Steve…”

And then Bucky rolls on top of him, fast and agile, holding Steve down. The metal arm whirrs and clicks, and it makes Steve’s belly clench, makes desire coil in him like a spring. Bucky smiles, predatory, like he knows.

“That could definitely be arranged.”

He leans down, whispers in Steve’s ear “you want me to turn you over, pull down your pants, lick your hole, get you wet like an Omega?”

Steve has to close his eyes against the thoughts each word is invoking, a rolling video in his imagination. The word escaping from between his teeth without his permission.

“ _Yes_.”

Bucky’s hand is between his legs suddenly, pressing on the fabric of his jeans, that space right behind his balls.

“Touch you here, spread you open?”

“Yes. Please.”

It’s almost a hiss, Steve’s eyes closed, the images conjured by Bucky’s words still flickering in his mind’s eye. He still has a small tub of lubricant in his bedside drawer. He’d used it sometimes jerking off. Before Bucky, when the rut had been itching under his skin and he’d wanted something slippery and warm around his dick.

He pulls it out of the drawer now, hands it to Bucky. He licks his bottom lip as he reads the description on the top of the jar, metal fingers curling around the edges. It’s meant for Omegas, to ease penetration, and the thought of it being used on him makes Steve flush, makes him feel hot and cold at the same time.

Quickly they strip each other, and then Bucky’s pushing him back into the sheets. Steve goes easy and almost pliant, feeling the press, the strength of Bucky’s metal arm against his chest.

“Pull your knees up.”

Steve can’t help the blush that spreads down and over his throat, his chest, at Bucky’s words. At the way he’s looking at Steve, eyes dark and hooded. So he holds the back of his knees, pulls them to his chest, spreads them wide, watching Bucky’s eyes darken even more, his lips parting, tongue pressing into that plush lower lip.

His cock is hard, leaking against his belly, balls and knot tight and aching between his legs, the way he’s spread open to Bucky’s gaze. Bucky reaches out, runs his hands down the exposed backs of Steve’s thighs, over the swell of his ass, fingers just skimming his spread-out cleft. Soft and gentle and teasing. Then Bucky pulls back, and Steve whimpers as Bucky clicks the tub open, sinking two fingers into the slick, the thick substance sliding over the digits, glistening in the low light.

Bucky’s finger feels slippery circling around Steve’s anus, gently rubbing the furled skin. Steve tries to pant through the feeling, the way Bucky’s finger just presses, soft and sure, but not penetrating. Like he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Buck…Bucky, please.”

Finally, after what feels like hours but is only minutes in reality, Bucky presses in, just the tip of a finger, and Steve thumps his head into the pillows. It feels good, better than his own finger had those few times he’d let himself explore in the shower. That strange burn which feels good too. The way Bucky seems to be petting him, curling his finger just inside Steve’s anus.

Then Bucky presses deeper, slowly, oh-so-slowly, letting Steve adjust to him. Then pulling out, just a tiny bit before sinking back in, setting a rhythm Steve tries to follow, tries to arch his hips into. Trying to clench down, but it just makes Bucky’s finger slide in smoother, better, easier.

He’s gasping, panting, just from that one finger. He looks at Bucky’s cock, hard and flushed, pressing into his belly. It’s smaller than an Alpha would be, but nothing to scoff at.

Steve feels the soft press of another finger, teasing and then pressing in alongside the first. It hurts a little; Steve feels his thighs tensing where he’s holding them up, his fingers sweaty behind his knees. Then Bucky spreads his fingers and Steve keens, his cock dribbling on his belly, arching and clenching around the intrusion again.

“Come on, Buck, please, just, fuck… do me.”

Bucky’s nodding, dazed and pulling his fingers out. He’s rubbing the slick all over his dick, getting himself wet. Ready for Steve. He clenches down again, his asshole feeling open and empty without Bucky’s fingers in him. Without _Bucky_ in him. Steve moans when the head of Bucky’s cock presses against him, spreads his legs even wider, begs with wordless, formless sounds.

Slowly, so slowly, Bucky presses the head of his dick in. It feels immense, huge, like it’s never going to go in, and Steve’s painting with it, feeling the way Bucky’s trying to soothe him, his cool metal hand petting the outside of Steve’s thigh.

The head pops inside and Steve moans, letting go of his own legs, reaching for Bucky, needing to touch. His hands come over Bucky’s belly, feeling the swell of it, thinking of the baby inside of him, the amalgamation of him and Bucky, what they’ve made together.

Bucky moves to hold Steve’ thighs up, pressing in slowly but surely until they’re flush together, Bucky’s hips pressing into Steve’s ass, the insides of his thighs, his belly nudging the base of Steve’s dick, the tender skin of his knot that’s pulsing and aching already.

“Fuck…Bucky, please.”

It hurts, burns more than Bucky’s fingers, and Steve can’t seem to catch his breath, panting like he’s in heat. Then Bucky starts to move, slowly, uncertain for the first time, trying to find a rhythm that suits them both.

“Come…like this…” He grabs Bucky’s bottom, squeezing the flesh and helping him, guiding Bucky to what feels good. It still hurts, but the burn is different, like sparks of something deep in Steve’s belly when Bucky angles his cock up towards Steve’s bellybutton.

“Oh god, fuck, Steve.”

It’s still slow and easy, like Bucky’s still worried about hurting him, but Steve doesn’t mind. He likes it gentle, he thinks, the way Bucky is around him, over him, inside him. The way the swell of his belly now and again brushes against Steve’s, a reminder between them.

Bucky reaches between them, holds Steve’s knot in his hand, squeezing, pulsing like he’s being milked, and Steve can’t hold off any longer. Streaking hot, white stripes of come all over his chest. He can feel his asshole clenching down on Bucky’s cock, milking him in return.

Almost as if in retaliation, Steve sneaks his hand between Bucky’s ass cheeks, feels the wetness there, stuffs two fingers inside, letting Bucky fuck into him and back into Steve’s fingers now filling his hole. Short, sharp thrusts until he comes too, clenching around Steve’s fingers, filling Steve up with his come.

Afterward, Steve wipes them both down with a discarded t-shirt or something, pulling Bucky to him, nosing at his scent glands, the soft skin at the back of his ear. He thinks they fall asleep like that, Bucky half-draped over him, breathing in Bucky’s scent, his whole world filled with just _Bucky_.

Steve’s morning doesn’t start out as well.

He’s on his knees on the floor. Wearing only his underpants and with the box of the stroller open in front of him, the parts littered across his bedroom floor. He’d carried the box from Bucky’s room, all quiet-like, wanting it to be a surprise before he woke up.

“Fuck, this makes no fucking sense,” he mutters angrily, clanging and swearing around.

He hears movement from the bed and looks up in time to see Bucky rolling himself into a burrito made of sheets and duvets and murmuring “you know, the baby’s first word is going to be ‘fuck’ at this rate” from his cocoon.

Steve turns around with a part of the frame in hand. “Shit. I was gonna have this done by the time you woke up,” he says mournfully, and Bucky just laughs at him, doubling down into his blanket nest.

“It’s okay, Alpha, I forgive you.”

Steve growls, dropping the frame and jumping up on the bed. Unrolling Bucky from the duvets, pulling him tight against Steve’s body.

“Horrible, horrible Omega I have.”

“Yeah…yeah you do.”

Bucky sounds strangely shy, looking up at him where he’s lying under Steve’s body, held still and close. Steve pets his hair, pushing a strand behind Bucky’s ear. It must all be showing on his face, the helpless adoration, how stupidly in love he is. It seems to make Bucky smile, gentle and kind, the way Steve has always dreamed of.

Steve can’t face that look, can’t face acceptance, not yet. Instead, he just breathes “I have you” into the side of Bucky’s face, hiding there, kissing the tip of Bucky’s ear and the top of his cheek. Pulling the sheets over them, protecting what is finally his.

 

 

It feels lighter, afterward. Something’s changed in him, something’s been unlocked or laid to rest. Steve knows he’s smiling stupidly, leaning over the counter watching Bucky cook.

“You know this is a party for you, right? Everyone else should be cooking for you.”

Bucky just glowers at him from the kitchen, mixing the potato salad with more aggression than is really necessary.

“Guests, Steve. We’re having guests over for a dinner party.”

This particular argument has been going on for the whole three days since Bucky had invited everyone over for dinner and Darcy had decided that it would be the perfect opportunity to throw Bucky a baby shower.

There had been a gift register, which Bucky had refused to add anything to, and a cupcake delivery, which had also received a venomous look this morning. Steve had stolen one from the box and eaten it happily while hiding in his office. Now that cupcake tower stands on the dining table surrounded by dips and finger foods Bucky has spent most of the morning and early afternoon making.

Steve steals another carrot stick, humming to himself, and Bucky shouts at him not to steal food from the kitchen.

Pepper and Tony arrive first with an expensive-looking white gift box. They both hug Bucky, familiarity in the air between them all. Steve smiles, shakes hands, feeling wrong-footed and bashful even in his own home. Pepper just smiles, touches his arm and whispers “you did alright.”

Then it’s Natasha and Clint with an oblong and badly wrapped package. Darcy with a cake made out of diapers. Steve isn’t sure how that’s supposed to work, but he assumes that diapers are something that they will need. Thor and Wanda arrive together, holding a huge bag full of gifts between them. Apparently, after getting wind of the shower, most of the SHIELD New York field office had wanted to send something.

Bucky tries desperately to explain about the ‘no gift rule’ again and how it’s a dinner party, only to be interrupted by Cho, who arrives with a jar of kimchi and a beautiful silver Tiffany rattler that makes Bucky go quiet and thoughtful.

The food is a great success, even when they all have to get to the table quickly in order to stop Thor from devouring most of the miniature peach pies. In the end, Bucky sits between Steve’s legs, opening each of the presents in turn. Still grumbling softly first about the ‘no gift rule,’ which everyone had ignored, and then about the expense no one should have gone to.

Steve lets his hands gently hold him, petting over Bucky’s belly, cheek pressed to Bucky’s shoulder. He listens to his friends’ laughter, the chatter around him, listens to Bucky’s breath and the way he thanks each and everyone for their generous gifts, and Steve lets himself feel contented for the first time in a long, long time. Maybe ever.

 


	15. Epilogue

 

_One year later_

 

 

They disarm in the ready room, both of them in too much of a hurry to get home to strip out of most of their combat gear properly. They’re sweaty and covered in dust and sand from the desert. Bucky rinses his hands and face, running a stack of paper towels over his neck to get the worst of it out. There’s a cut on the side of his neck, edging into his jaw and the flesh of his cheek. It stings under the water as he wipes.

He can hear Steve muttering and clicking his tongue behind him, disapproval and worry rolling off him in waves that Bucky is resolutely ignoring. It’s not like the big lug came out of the skirmish unharmed. Bucky can see the way Steve is careful of his ribs, the short, shallow breaths he’s trying to hide from Bucky.

When they finally get back home, Bucky feels like a weight’s been lifted off his shoulders. Seeing how Darcy’s got the play gym set up on a blanket in the living room, the TV playing some trashy show in the background. She looks up from where she’s tickling Ben’s toes, play-biting them in her mouth.

“Your daddies are home, little peanut.”

She blows a raspberry on Ben’s belly and the baby giggles up at her. He’s been such a happy baby, even right from the beginning, charming everyone at the compound straight from Bucky’s recovery room in the medical wing. Bucky hadn’t been so gracious, and Steve had nearly disemboweled anyone who came within five feet of them in the first few days.

But it had gotten easier over time.

Steve had nearly wet himself laughing after he’d caught Fury playing peek-a-boo during one of Bucky’s psych-evals earlier in the year. He’d been begrudgingly holding Ben while Bucky had spoken to the SHIELD psychologist, but it seemed that even in 20 minutes Ben had been able to win Fury over. He’s going to be a force to be reckoned with once he learns to talk. Or to walk.

Now he giggles, letting out a little scream of delight when Bucky bends down to pick him up, smiling his thanks to Darcy. Ben’s been mostly weaned now, but it’s still a relief for Bucky to get into the bedroom with him and press Ben to his chest to nurse. He’s still half-dressed in his combat gear, unlacing his boots one-handed and kicking them off to the side of the bed. Shimmying out of his BDU’s. His henley pulled open all the way down to his chest.

He leans against the pillows, ignoring the dust he knows he’s littering around, petting Ben’s butt as he latches on and starts to eat.

Steve comes into the bedroom not long afterward. He must have said his goodbyes to Darcy. He’s shedding most of his gear into the closet, stripping down to his t-shirt and underpants. Bucky can see the livid bruising over his left thigh where he took a nasty fall. Once he’s put everything away, Steve finally crawls into the bed with him and Ben. Reaching over to gently kiss the baby’s head.

He’s got Bucky’s dark hair, but Steve’s eyes. Bucky can feel Steve sighing, see the slight tremble in his hands, knows what’s coming.

“I don’t know if I can do this, Buck. I was so fucking scared.”

“I know.”

He doesn’t look up from Ben’s calm face, his lips round and wide around Bucky’s nipple, the way he nurses with his little fists closed, without a care in the world. Bucky doesn’t have to ask what Steve’s talking about; the singed kevlar still gently smoking on the floor tells its own story clearly enough.

“It’ll get easier.”

“I don’t know if it will, Buck. I’m not sure I want it to.”

It’s an old fight, one they’ve had multiple times, over and over in the past year, even more in the past few months as Bucky’s return to the field got closer. When Fury came over. When he got his field accreditation and was fitted for a combat suit and custom rifle and his own SIG. Got his call sign. _Winter Soldier_.

“We’ve talked about this. I’m not going to give this up, any of this.”

He runs his free hand over Steve’s fluffed-up hair and over the back of his neck. Scratching the bonding bite there. It’s uncommon to give one to an Alpha, but Steve had insisted. Had wanted one, had asked Bucky to mount him and bite even before Steve had marked him. That had happened after the birth, and the memory still makes Bucky feel warm, a tingle at the base of his spine.

“But…”

“No buts, Alpha. The mission was a success, we’re a success, okay?”

Steve nuzzles against this side, petting the hand holding Ben up against Bucky’s chest. He knows Steve loves these moments, just the three of them. Loves watching Ben nursing, knowing that they are both protected, provided for.

“Such a bossy Omega, I have.”

Bucky can’t help the smile blooming on his face, the affection creeping into his voice, always.

“And you love it.”

“I do.”

Bucky can feel Steve smiling against his bicep where he’s buried his face, the perfect vantage point to observe Ben.

They’ll probably have this same fight for years to come, Bucky thinks. Ben will probably be an adult and they’ll still be having this fight. It makes him smile, the thought of their little family unit, of watching Ben growing up surrounded by their friends, a family they’ve chosen, watching himself and Steve getting old together.

As the evening darkens around them properly, Bucky puts Ben to sleep, letting Steve take the first shower. He showers while Steve changes the sheets and then they devour the leftover melanzane parmigiana from the fridge in front of the TV, watching the tail end of a movie near-on silent. Leaning on each other on the couch.

The adrenaline from the mission is still thrumming in both of them. Bucky can feel it as they brush their teeth in the bathroom, bumping into each other.

And he’s right. Steve’s on him as soon as they get to bed. Pinning Bucky underneath him, hands roaming into the back of Bucky’s underwear, feeling the wetness already gathering at his hole just from this, just from Steve’s nearness, from the way he’s looking at Bucky with a combination of hunger and awe.

Then a wail breaks through from the baby monitor, and Steve groans, dropping his head against Bucky’s sternum.

“Your turn.”

Bucky shakes his head, poking Steve in the side with a metal fingertip.

“Nope…it’s your turn.”

Steve looks up at him mulishly.

“Fine. Rock, paper, scissors then.”

Bucky smiles innocently, nodding. Steve counts under his breath, and then flashes paper, which Bucky mimics cutting with his scissors, smiling with glee, but Steve isn’t ready to concede victory quite yet.

“Alright, alright, best out of three.”

Bucky chuckles, but nods. Steve wins the next round. A rock to Bucky’s scissors, knocking Bucky’s fingers gently with his fist. But Bucky has a plan, and he knows Steve, knows how he thinks. Easily beating his rock with paper in the final round. Steve groans, but obediently rolls out of bed, pulling on his t-shirt and sweatpants, and pads out of the room.

Bucky naps, listening to the soothing sound of Steve’s voice through the baby monitor. The way he sings off-key, hums and tells little stories. Whispers how much he loves Ben, how much they both do.

When Bucky goes looking an hour later, after everything has gone quiet and still in the night, and he finds Steve asleep in the nursing chair with Ben on his chest. Hands resting on the baby’s back, supporting under his butt.

Gently, Bucky pulls him from Steve’s chest, shushing the both of them as Steve shifts, waking up a bit. Bucky puts Ben back into his cot, running gentle fingers over his head, the tufts of his dark hair.

Then he goes to Steve, whispering “come on, you big lug, back to bed with you.” Pulling him up from the chair.

Steve mumbles something unintelligible, but follows him anyway. They fall asleep with Steve pressed into his back, those slow steady breaths against the nape of his neck lulling Bucky to sleep. Steve’s lips just barely grazing the boding mark there, touching it like a reminder, like a promise made and kept.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that’s it folks.
> 
>  
> 
> I mean this was never supposed to be this long. _Really. Honestly_. Mostly, I owe the biggest amount of thanks to Zilia without whom this would not be here now or be anywhere near this coherent in general. She cajoled, kicked and encouraged me the whole way, and also made a lot of this legible to normal humans.
> 
> Thank you also to everyone who commented, left kudos and bookmarked. Thank you for sticking with this strange little fic, and the epic miscommunication which frustrated so many of you ;)
> 
> Now, I’m off to moving my entire life across the Atlantic in about five weeks time, and then I will return with the Stucky Big Bang in August, so yeah...watch this space.


End file.
